


Mojave Baby

by wastelandbabyx



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 3
Genre: Drug Use, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Flashbacks, Friendship, Ghouls, Humor, Past Relationship(s), Recreational Drug Use, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24104656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastelandbabyx/pseuds/wastelandbabyx
Summary: Follow the story of the former Mojave courier, Michelle, as she flees from everything she’s ever own; venturing out into the unknown to discover her raison d'être, and how it will be more than she ever bargained for.
Relationships: Charon (Fallout)/Lone Wanderer, Charon (Fallout)/Original Character(s), Courier (Fallout)/Butch DeLoria, Courier/ Charon (Fallout)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 26





	1. Pilot

In the midst of distant gunfire and the unintelligible shouting of super mutants, Michelle, the former Mojave courier and proclaimed ‘savior of New Vegas’, was quite positive she was dying — the irony of her predicament being not that she was dying, but that she was dying in none other than the D.C’s _Our Lady Hope_ hospital. 

An exasperated sigh had slipped from between her chapped lips, and she swore she could feel the room begin to spin around her as the smell of iron flooded her senses. For a brief moment she had dared to cast her gaze down to the hand clasped down over her abdomen, and damn. There was alot of blood.. enough to saturate her lap and pool around her seated form like a crimson halo. Tentatively moving her hand to address the severity of her condition, she took notice of the tacky feel, and how the blood around her bullet wounds had already begun to coagulate. Pressing her hand back down to her abdomen, she let her head fall back against the cool metal of an overturned cabinet that kept her upright, her eyes squeezing shut as she fought against slipping in and out of the grasp of consciousness.

Back in Underworld, in Barrow’s _Chop Shop_ , Michelle had sat listening attentively to a middle-aged mercenary by the name of Reilly as she pleaded for someone to investigate what had gone awry with the rest of her rangers near Vernon Square. Of course, Michelle had her reservations about Reilly’s situation, but damn if she wasn’t easily persuaded by her own bleeding heart. However, her newly-acquired companion, a former vault-dweller by the name of Butch Deloria, seemed to have his own sentiment towards the situation. One he had no hesitation in firing off on once they were outside the Museum of History. 

“Are you _insane?_ ”

Butch shook his head, a lock of his slick, dark hair falling out of place from his pompadour before he took to glaring daggers into the back of Michelle’s skull while she threw a halfhearted wave to Willow. The ghoulette simply stared at the pair with a bemused expression, her arms crossed and a lit cigarette pressed between her lips. 

_Tourists._

“Vernon Square is like.. a haven for those big, ugly mutants.”

Butch grimaced, as if to add emphasis on his statement, and Michelle gave a light-hearted chuckle, her head tilting backwards as she regarded him. The former vault dweller could feel irritation rising like bile in his throat. She wasn’t taking him seriously, much less the situation at hand. Though before he could open his mouth to fire off a string of obscenities, she interrupted his train of thought by abruptly pausing her stride.

“Have you been before?”

She had turned to face Butch, her face nothing but that of earnest, and he was left momentarily eating his own unspoken words. Shoving his hands a little irately into the pockets of his leather Tunnel Snake jacket, Butch found himself casting his gaze downward as he gave another shake of his head. 

“Well, no. But I’ve heard enough to know what places to avoid, and _that’s_ definitely one of them..” 

Looking back, she began to wish she hadn’t been so brahmin-headed.. reassuring Butch that they’d be “just fine”, and continuing onward, despite the red flags that erupted in the form of goosebumps across her skin, or the nagging of unease at the back of her skull as they crossed their way through rubble and collapsed structures into _Our Lady Hope._ Though now, as she laid in an unconscious heap, she was anywhere but the hospital, or D.C for that matter.. no, she was back in the Mojave. Perched on the back of the remnants of a wrecked Chryslus Highwayman, and a sunset sarsaparilla clutched between her hands as she gave an ardent smile to her ghoul companion. An old vaquero from times past. _Raul Tejada._

_“I’m gonna miss you, ya know..”_

_Her glowing smile began to falter like an extinguished flame, and her gaze something sorrowful as she stared out into something beyond the setting horizon. Beside her, Raul reached to clasp a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she could feel herself having to fight against the urge to lean further into the touch._

_She shouldn’t make this any harder than need be._

_“No tienes que irte.. you don’t have to go, mija.”_

_Even he knew how wrong that was, however.. her atrocities against the legion and their legate Lanius would not go unnoticed for long, and she knew there would be retaliation soon enough. By hanging around longer than needed be, she was putting everyone close to her in danger, not to mention everything she’d done for New Vegas, and the Mojave._

_“Oh, come on. After everything I’ve been through? I think I’m due for some vacation days.”_

_She turned to grin towards her ghoul companion, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. If Raul took notice, he was polite enough not to comment. Instead, he just chortled softly, giving her sidelong stare as he popped the cap off another sunset sarsaparilla._

_“Yeah, yeah.. where are you gonna be headed to, anyway?”_

_“There’s a caravan heading out somewhere within the next few days.. figured I’d just tag along, see where our travels lead us.”_

_Of course, if anyone had ever asked the courier before if she’d ever consider leaving the Mojave, she would’ve looked at them as if they were crazy. Or perhaps had ingested too much radscorpion venom to be thinking straight. The Mojave was her home — everything she’d ever known._

_“Well.. in your grandioso adventures, don’t forget about us. I know I’m just an el vejo with bad knees, but still.”_

_She snorted, rolling her eyes before giving a genuine grin. She lightly knocked her shoulder into Raul’s as he gave her a smile of his own, his eyes wrinkling at the corners as he took in the last sight of her._

_“I’d never.”_

Michelle’s body stirred and shifted as she began to regain consciousness. Her eyelids felt like heavy weights as she tried to open them, and she tried to ignore the stiff aching and protest of her joints as she tried to move around in place. How long had she been out?

“Shit..”

She had to get moving, or surely the decrepit remains of the operating theater would be her last grave. Though as she willed herself forward from her position, her body protested against her as pain bloomed from every direction like she’d grasped onto a live wire, setting her cerebral cortex alight. Inhaling sharply, she curled over into herself onto the floor as she convulsed in silent pain, willing every fiber of her being to not betray her in making a sound until she lost consciousness once more. 

Why he had agreed to tag along was beyond Butch. Firing off at giant, grotesque mutants as he hid behind overturned pre-war medical equipment, he figured he’d just chalk it up to cabin fever of sorts. It hadn’t been long since he’d left home, and he was just antsy for some excitement was all.. Rivet City was an oversized piss bucket that had worn out it’s welcome well before Butch had ever arrived, and when she had sauntered into the Muddy Rudder that night, Butch knew he was fucked. She was beautiful, but not particularly in your conventional way. No, the new world would never have been so forgiving.. 

Still, she maintained curves in all the right places, had full, plump breasts that strained against the leather armor she had worn, and her face was framed with a golden halo of hair longer than most that Butch had seen out in the wasteland. Nothing at all like his peers that Butch grew up alongside in Vault 101. What made her the most alluring above all, however, was the particular way she carried herself. Her presence alone seemed leave air of an unspoken _”Don’t fuck with me.”_ And boy if that wasn’t right. She was a force like any other, both in and out of battle, but Butch took notice of another thing she maintained where other wastelanders lacked: a wave of soft femininity—.. no, a wave of benevolence.

Though underneath those seams Butch knew there had to be more, something left unspoken and unregarded. That night in the Muddy Rudder, Michelle hadn’t elaborated too much on her reason as to 𝘸𝘩𝘺 she’d left the Mojave and all it’s grandeur for the ruins of what was left of DC, but Butch was either too wise to press, or too drunk to care. 

“Michelle? Shit, _shit._ ”

Butch spoke in a raised whisper, creeping over what he could only imagine was collapsed debris and more discarded equipment. He tried _not_ thinking of the wet, soft material that squelched beneath his boots as he trudged through the darkness, ignoring the enormous forms of fallen super mutants as he searched for signs of his fallen companion. 

Through the crumbled and open foundation, Butch could hear more of the booming back and forth banter of the mutants, the sound sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. Vault 101 definitely hadn’t elaborated on _them_ , much less all the other abominations and nightmares that etched together the new world. He could still recall how it had been like pulling teeth in class to get anyone to touch down on elaborating on things like residual radiation, and just what else had happened to the world outside the vault.. No — Butch knew the rest of them would’ve been content living out their remaining days underground. Just in exchange of picket fences, they’d been given metal walls. 

Peering around a partially collapsed doorway, Butch watched as the ass end of a centaur waddled it’s way further down the exiting hallway, the tongue-like tentacles that grotesquely protruded from it’s chops swinging idly around, until it finally disappeared out of view. The sight was a little jarring, to say the least— Butch had never seen such a thing walking around on what appeared to be _arms_ before —but he pushed onward, crouching low as he tried to keep a quick stride to the next open room. What he saw once inside however was just a little more jarring than the walking monstrosity with waving tentacles. 

Michelle was more or less curled up into herself, surrounded by a pool of what he had to assume was her own vital fluid. In the back of his mind, Butch immediately assumed the worst. Or so he did until a sound so soft emanated from her slumped form that, at first, he was certain his ears were playing tricks on him. Dropping to his knees beside her, Butch pulled his pack from off his shoulder, yanking the zipper open in a single, rough motion as he grasped for a stimpack. The motion so rushed and desperate, as if it had been his own life had been on the line, and perhaps in ways, it still was. There was no way he’d be able to make it out alone, much less continue to push forward. 

“Hey, girl.. You still with me?”

Butch gently grasped onto Michelle’s hip, leaning in close enough to watch the faint rise and fall of her chest, and felt himself give a hearty exhale of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He still had time. 

Slowly maneuvering her torso so she was no longer slumped over herself, Butch grasped for one of the two stimpacks he’d pulled from his pack. He zoned in on the damage of her lower abdomen, and using what little medical judgement he had, assumed they’d all been clean shots. Lining the needle up to it’s directory, he plunged the syringe home. Leaning back on his heels, Butch watched in an almost awe as the regeneration properties of the healing agent went to work in moments. Taking no time to repeat the same process with the second stimpack once the first had finished as his mind drifted to a rather recent memory, one from his visit to the infirmary from back in vault 101. 

_“You’re telling me that you’re just gonna stick me with that,” Butch pointed accusingly to the sharp syringe that was grasped in the hand of an even more unamused Jonas. “and it’s supposed to fix this? Yeah right!”_

 _Butch gestured towards the blooming bruise and gash that decorated his otherwise flawless facial structure. Peering from behind his glasses, Jonas nodded. His patience was already wearing thin for the day, and he was in no mood to argue with the vault bully._

_“Yes, it will — now sit still and let me take care of it, or otherwise I’ll have to resort to sticking you with something else, Mister DeLoria.”_

There was a new kind of pain, but it was so small and so brief, Michelle was unsure if she’d really felt it at all until — oh. _Oh._ Groaning softly, Michelle raised her head enough to peer up towards the face of a rather.. perturbed looking Butch. Her face contorted into a series of different expressions until setting on that of a meek gratitude. It was nice to know her companion apparently wasn’t planning on running out on her with cold feet, or leaving her for super mutant chow.

“Hey, thanks.”

The corner of Butch’s mouth twitched into a brief smile of relief as he began to clamber back onto his feet before moving to help Michelle sit back upright. _God_ she was tired. D.C was proving to be just as fierce as unrelenting as the Mojave, if not more. Of course the over abundance of oversized mutations, of all things, certainly didn’t help. Suddenly clearing out deathclaws from a vacant quarry didn’t seem as bad.. Well, _almost_. 

“Guess we should get a move on, huh?” 

To say Butch was looking a little antsy was an understatement. She gave a small, affirmative nod as she slowly climbed back up onto her feet, ignoring the stiffness that seemed to have taken to hibernating within her bones. They’d already spent more time then necessary in the godforsaken hospital, and this had been an unnecessary setback they really didn’t need. They still had to reach, and clear, the Statesmen’s Hotel to reach Rilley’s Rangers. Assuming any were still left, and alive.

“Oh, here,”

Butch paused, leaning to scavenge back around in his pack, much to Michelle’s own dismay upon realizing that she must have lost hers in the midst of trying to flee, before pressing a modified M/A 9MM pistol into her hand. The ivy and floral pattern that damascened the pistol gleamed faintly in the dim overhead light of the room, right up to the pearl grip, which had an aphorism hand-engraved in spanish into the iridescent material: _No second chances._

The weight felt all too familiar resting in her palm. 

“I came across it while on my way searching for you. It looked.. fancy enough, so I figured you probably paid a pretty cap for it. Would’ve been a bitch to leave it behind.”

Michelle eyed Butch for a moment, a gentle, almost somber smile pulling at her lips as she gave what she hoped to a casual shrug of her shoulder. _This must seem like an 18 karat run of bad luck._

They needed to get the hell out of here.


	2. Reilly’s Rangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle and Butch get to meet Reilly’s Rangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the layout of the Statesmen’s Hotel a little bit for the story, as well as a few other things.

Michelle and Butch had managed to escape from the _Our Lady Hope_ hospital, even if just by the skin of their teeth, hesitantly crossing over what was left of the skybridge and into Statesmen Hotel. 

They had made easy work of a pair of mutants in the hotel’s lobby, and once determining the perimeter was relatively clear of any other unwanted guests, Michelle began to work on examining the lobby elevator. The steel doors were sealed shut, and the torn control panel suggested that the super mutants had apparently attempted to give their own electrical skills a whirl. Pulling at one of the torn wires, she gave an exasperated sigh. 

“Reminder to self. Never hire a mutant to fix your electrical.” 

“Hm? Hey, you say somethin’?”

Butch stood from the couch he’d been lounging on, flipping though a half-burnt Trades magazine as if he didn’t have a care in the world, even if just for the moment. The skeletal remains that were strewn across the opposite end of the furniture piece rattled gently as he stood, but Butch paid it no mind as he dropped the magazine onto it’s lap. _Hey, buddy. Don’t mind if I do._

Shoving his hands down into his jacket pockets, Butch stepped his way over until he was close enough to peer over Michelle’s shoulder, watching as she worked to separate and realign everything to what she could only hope to be their correct positions. The snaking wires, fuse boxes, and other inner workings of the control box were completely foreign to the Tunnel Snake, however not so much the _functionality_ of the courier’s jury rigging.

“Hey, man. Are you sure this is safe? That doesn’t exactly look kosher if you know what I mean..”

Michelle snorted softly, turning to shoot a glance to Butch before returning to her work in attempts to splice the loose electrical. 

“And navigating through _another_ mutant-infested structure is? I mean, come on, Butch. We gatta weigh our options here. Or.. _lack thereof_ , anyway.”

Butch grimaced, but knew she had a point. They had hell making it through the hospital. Who’s to say their luck would be any better trekking through whatever horrors the hotel might hold? Plus, what was the worst that could happen, riding in an elevator with some shoddy electrical work? Surely couldn’t be worse than becoming super mutant excrement.. 

“Alright, I think I got it.” 

Michelle stood back, watching as the position indicator of the elevator came to life in a soft, yellowed glow. The sound of machinery turning and groaning filled the air until the cart descended to the lobby level, the metal doors sliding open in an almost uncanny welcome. Butch couldn’t help but to scoff, giving a roll of his eyes as Michelle beamed a grin towards him before moving to grab what few supplies they’d scavenged from the lobby, loading them up into the elevator.

“Never again would that have worked, and you know it.”

“Don’t need it to, Butch. Now come on, let’s see how she holds up.” 

Grasping the assault rifle she’d grabbed from a fallen mutant, Michelle stepped foot into the elevator cart, her teasing expression and amusement fading into something contemplative as Butch followed behind. It was now more or less the moment of truth as she pressed a key on the faded panel, one that would take them to the rooftop of the Statemen’s Hotel, and if they were lucky, Reilly’s Rangers.

Beside her, Butch shifted uneasily, his gaze focused on the 9MM pistol grasped tightly in his hands. It was then, perhaps a little late maybe, that the realization had dawned on Michelle just how everything must be effecting the former vault 101 dweller since their travels from the Muddy Rudder in Rivet City. On the outside she knew he held up the _’tough bad guy’_ exterior, but there was no denying that the transition had to be jarring. Unlike him, she had been born into this new world, built for it even. Nothing came as much of a surprise to her anymore, but when you live your life underground in a sanctuary illusion, well..

_**DING!** ___

__The sharp bell-ring of the elevator as it stopped at the roof access pulled her from any thoughts of her companion, and into action as she quickly peered around the door’s exit before stepping out onto the roof. Butch followed closely, looking a bit like a radstag in the line of sight, but observant nonetheless. The booming voices of other super mutants could be heard further up the rooftop, though they weren’t the sounds of their typical taunts and threats, but instead screams and gurgling noises of anguish. Over that, Michelle could hear the familiar sound of a minigun as it whirled to life, sending a barrage of bullets like hail towards it’s target.__

____

____

Being shielded by the concrete wall surrounding the center of the rooftop patio, it left the pair with little to insight as to the source of the gunfire. Which meant they had to proceed with caution. Even with the possibility of the gunfire belonging to that of Reilly’s Rangers, they had no guarantee that the mercenary group still wouldn’t open fire of them, too. Especially given the current circumstances. Crouching low into position while motioning for Butch to do the same, Michelle moved quickly, her rifle grasped tightly and ready to fire. Though before they rounded the near corner, she paused, standing upwards before peeking around the corner to further assess the situation of what they’d be heading into. 

In her immediate line of vision, there was another adjoining wall to the corner, the small pathway leading up to an open pathway to what she could only assume was the courtyard. However, the most striking thing were the dozens, if not more, of fallen super mutants. Their gnarled faces frozen in moments of fleeting anguish, but still managing to look just as horrendous and frightful, especially so up close.

_”Come on, ya ugly bastards! There’s more where that came from!”_

Michelle turned to share a surprised look with Butch, but not before pressing a finger to her lips. _Quiet._ They couldn’t risk throwing themselves out into the open and getting shot by what could’ve been some trigger-happy asshole. Pressing herself tightly up against the wall nearest to the courtyard without giving herself away, Michelle listened quietly for a moment, picking up on the low, muffled conversation between multiple other individuals. How many rangers had Rilley said she had to her group? Four? What were their names again? Theo.. _shit_.

“Donovan?”

Michelle grimaced, hoping she atleast had gotten _one_ name right, as she listened as the hushed voices came to an abrupt stop. Taking the advantage of the opportunity, she continued. 

“We were sent by Reilly. She— she wanted us to check on her rangers.”

The silence continued and Michelle had begun to prepare herself for retaliation of sorts, assuming that the group was indeed _not_ Rilley’s, when finally the same voice that had been shouting for super mutants earlier, answered. 

“Alright. We’re standing down. Hurry up and get over here before more of those things show up!”

Glancing back towards Butch, she gave a brief nod before stepping out into the clearing. A long staircase led up to what was, at one point in time, a beautiful courtyard. In it’s wake now was more bodies of mutants laid about, and at the top, a group of four, weary looking mercenaries. One of which whom was still holding the minigun that had been firing earlier. As the pair ascended the staircase, one of the men approached them, his gaze hard and scrutinizing. Michelle paused in front of him, hesitating for a brief moment before extending out an open palm. The mercenary stared for another long moment before seeming to finally give up his resolve, his shoulders slumping inward as he grasped the courier’s hand in his own in a firm handshake. 

“Michelle.”

“Donovan. And you are?”

Donovan’s gaze slid behind Michelle to Butch, who seemed to be more out of place than ever. However, always being one to put on a show, Butch squared his shoulders and kept his head up high as he acknowledged the mercenary.

“Name’s Butch.”

Donovan gave a single nod, either too exhausted or too unimpressed to entertain any acts of bravado. From behind him, Michelle could see a man slumped over in his seat in one of the patio chairs, a pool of drying blood surrounding him. By the look of his pale complexion, she assumed it was more than likely his own. Swallowing down the sympathy that welled in her throat, she turned to meet Donovan’s gaze, noting that he’d apparently noticed her staring. 

“That’s Butcher. He is.. well, _was_ our team’s medic. Until one of those ugly green assholes got him good. We’ve used up all our supplies being stranded up here, but we got the bleeding stopped atleast. However I don’t know how much longer he’s gonna make it if we can’t get the hell out of here. Which is why I suppose it’s a good thing you two showed up.”

Donovan’s gaze seem to soften into something almost pleading, though unspoken. 

“Yes, we talked to Rilley back in Underworld, in the Museum of History. She was in pretty bad shape, but wanted someone to check up on the rest of you.. though, I believe she mentioned there was four of you?” 

A new voice spoke up, introducing herself as Brick. 

“Yes, there were four of us.. Theo. He was our quartermaster. We lost him when we got ambushed inside the hotel, trying to make our way up here. There was just—..” 

Brick’s words trailed off, her face contorting into a distraught expression. Donovan seemed to share the sentiment as he cast his head downwards for a moment, giving a gentle sigh. Glancing back to Butch, Michelle caught him already staring with a strange expression over his face, and was suddenly thrown back to her brief.. _setback_ in the hospital. 

“Anyway..” 

Brick gently shook her head, her face settling back in a firm expression. 

“We kept trying to get the elevator working so we could just head straight back down to the main lobby, and escape out front, but there was no power to the damned thing. And those _things_ just kept coming.” 

“Hey, wait— the elevator. She got it up and working!” 

Butch piqued up, his face brightening as both Brick and Donovan looked between them both like they’d just grown two heads. 

“Yes, I did. For now, anyway..” 

“Well shit! Let’s not waste anymore time. We need to get out of here.” 

As Brick began gathering up what belongings the rangers had left, Donovan moved to tend to Butcher, pausing to turn back towards Michelle and Butch. 

“Look, if you two can help us get out of here, I can promise we’ll repay you. We just.. we can’t carry him _and_ fight anymore of those things ourselves. Our compound isn’t too far from here.” 

The two didn’t even have to give a second thought as she and Butch helped pull a half-conscious Butcher onto his feet, following behind Donovan and Brick as they took care of more straggling super mutants emerging from the stairwell. Once loaded up into the elevator, Michelle glanced from the closing doors to Butcher, who seemed to be fighting his own battle against losing consciousness. _Damn._ She could almost feel the metaphorical foot kicking herself in the ass for being so careless back in the hospital. The supplies in her pack would’ve been enough to have not only got her through, but to have gotten Butcher stable, too. She just hoped he’d pull through long enough until they reached the compound. Beside them, Donavan eyed Michelle, his brown raised in question. 

“You alright? You look a little.. distracted. I mean, not that I can blame you, of course.” 

“Oh. Yes, it’s just—” 

Michelle was suddenly cut off by Butcher dry heaving for several moments before vomiting all over the cart’s floor. Butch gagged at the sight, or possibly the smell, and had to readjust his hold on the mercenary as everyone’s worried gazes focused in on the sick mercenary. Once he finished expelling the contents of his stomach, Butcher gave a soft groan and mumbled something so quiet Michelle almost didn’t catch it. 

_“Never did.. like.. elevators..”_


	3. The Ninth Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This took me abit too long to clean up and post, but sometimes I swear my retinas get tired of trying to look over everything and words just start blending together.
> 
> Anyway, we get to see our ghoul atleast! I hope y’all enjoy.

_Back in Underworld: The Ninth Circle._

A low, jazzy number played from the old time-worn radio as the sound of liquor bottles clinking together filled the night within the Ninth Circle. The bar had been bustling with ghouls since earlier in the afternoon; a pleasant enough change in comparison to how desolate the place had been previously in the week. Ahzrukhal certainly seemed pleased enough, stuffing the lining of his pockets with caps, looking every bit like a fat cat engorging itself on a sumptuous feast. 

However, from his seemingly perpetual corner of the bar, his contractually-obliged bodyguard was anything but entertained. Listening to ghouls intoxicate themselves on cheap swill and questionable contents from Ahzrukal’s _personal stash_ was the last thing Charon would’ve imagined himself doing. Though it had unfortunately been such a way for the last few centuries. 

The irony of course never seeming to be lost on him how the roles had been reversed in the grand scheme of things. He was no longer Charon, the _ferryman_ , but instead a measly beggar, wandering the shores until he was granted access across the river. 

But then again.. could he ever recall a time when he’d been more? 

“Hey, tell that joke again! You know the one.. about the doctor and the ghoul, haha!” 

“Again? Okay, okay..  
So, there’s this ghoul who goes to the doctor, and he’s complainin’ about this terrible rash. 

_”Doctor, doctor! I have this horrible rash!”_

He’s wavin’ and pointin’ at his face, just goin’ _crazy_ , ya know? And the doctor, he just looks at him, starts laughin’ and says: 

_”Son, that's no rash. That’s your face!"_

Laughter erupted from between the ghouls, and Charon swore he could feel himself inching one step closer towards going feral. Though that was just more wishful thinking perhaps. Given the years under Ahzrukal’s thumb, if he was ever bound to turn feral, he was certain he would’ve some time long ago. Of course it never stopped Charon from still entertaining the thought, since he was often left with nothing but time on his hands. 

He had always imagined himself slipping gracefully and without fight into his own descent. Part of himself figured that even _that_ would be a preferred alternative to this purgatory. 

Across the Ninth at his typical post behind the bar, Ahzrukhal held a ghastly smile. His hands worked to clean a bar glass with an old dishrag while his gaze slide around the room from behind sunken sockets. 

The barkeep, even in his prime, had been just as malevolent and foul as he was now. The only difference from now being that then he still held more of a relatively handsome face. More of a lure for naive ladies, and the few unsuspecting gentlemen. Now, he had just rotten through. Seeming to be just as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside. 

“Hey, Ahzrukhal, can we get another round over here?” 

One of the ghouls from the group waved from his table, an empty bottle in hand. Ahzrukhal gave a stern nod, setting down the glass he’d been cleaning earlier with a bit more force than necessary. Charon had taken the cue, but remained fixed to his corner, arms crossed over his chest as he met Ahzrukal’s glare from across the bar. 

It was rare that he was ever able to get room to bend the invisible hold of his contract, so Charon took each and every opportunity, relishing in the way Ahzrukhal would become unsated until finally giving him a direct command. Much like now. 

“Charon, come here.” 

The words may as well have been poison dripping from between his lips, but Charon still felt himself moving forward regardless, following the invisible pull. His milky blue hues watched as Ahzrukhal placed a heavy, russet-colored bottle on the counter, his hand clasped tightly around the neck, no doubt possibly envisioning it for Charon’s. 

The corner of his lips pulled tight, barring jagged, discolored teeth that vaguely reminded Charon of the mouth of a feral mongrel. He knew Ahzrukhal had it out him, and _bad_. 

However, physical violence invalidated the contract. But, over the years Ahzrukal had developed his own ways of bending the rules, just as Charon did. 

“Take this over to that table, then get back here. And make sure to get the fucking lead out of your boots.” 

Charon gave a low grow in retort, but still reached to grasp ahold of the bottle before heading over towards the table of inebriated ghouls. The chorus of drunken laughter had faded out almost immediately upon taking notice of his presence, and Charon couldn’t help but to relish in it. Everyone in Underworld knew of Ahzrukal’s bodyguard, and the ghoul’s chilling reputation. It made him feel abit powerful, knowing he hadn’t quite lost _all_ his charm withering away in the miserable bar.. 

Or so he’d thought. 

“ _Holyy shit_ , boys. Look at this fuckin’ behemoth. About as ugly as one, too!” 

The ghoul who’d requested the next round of liquor was staring up at Charon with glossy eyes, and a shit-eating grin to top it off as the rest of the group erupted into laughter once again. Charon gave a slow exhale, pushing down all the homicidal thoughts running through his head with a deadpan expression as he walked back to Ahzrukhal. The barkeep seemed so engrossed in his own thoughts while his hands worked to polish another dirty glass, he didn’t seem to take notice of Charon’s presence at first, until he spoke. 

“I have a job for you, Charon. Your presence is needed to pickup a _delivery_ of sorts for me, in Paradise Falls. Tell them ol’ Ahzrukhal sent you. And if that isn’t enough, then, well.. I’m sure you know how to make an entrance. ” 

Ahzrukhal gave Charon a side long glare, and Charon could feel himself bristling, but said nothing. He knew of Paradise Falls, and it was anything but than what the name suggested. A gang pin for raiders, slavers, and scum of the earth alike. Essentially, if the wasteland had it’s own ninth circle of hell, it would be none other than Paradise Falls. 

“It’s time sensitive, so _hurry back_. No fucking around.” 

With that, Ahzrukal discarded the bar glass, turning his attention instead to an approaching ghoulette. Adjusting the greasy tie of his suit, the old barkeep began putting on his _special charm_ , or lack thereof. Swallowing down the bile he was sure to be soon building in his throat, Charon found himself making his way out of the Ninth in a brisk pace, not wanting to stick around for what he knew always came next. 

Outside the Ninth, it was raining.  
A light downpour, but still raining nonetheless. The cool wetness felt refreshing against his skin, though still tentatively reminding Charon of just how long it’d been since he’d stepped out of the Ninth, much less Underworld. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” 

Charon‘s gaze slid over to the approaching ghoulette, though he said nothing. Instead opting for a gentle shrug as Willow posted near him, seeming unfazed by his lack of response. 

Willow had always been one ghoul Charon never minded. She always remained short on conversation, and never pried into things. He liked that about her. Plus, she wasn’t a half bad shot either, working well enough to keep the super mutants and Brotherhood of Steel bigots at bay. 

Pulling a pack of cigarettes out from her breast pocket, she offered one to Charon, to which he accepted, before pressing one to her own torn lips and lighting up. Charon couldn’t recall the last time he’d had the pleasure of indulging in the finer things, like prewar cigarettes. Stale as can be, but comforting in it’s familiarity. 

“Hm. I wonder if those bickering tourists are ever going to make it back..” 

Willow mused outloud, chuckling dryly to herself before taking a final drag off her cigarette, pushing herself from her post to begin her pacing once again. Charon could give a million guesses as to what the hell the ghoulette had meant by the _bickering tourists_ , but dismissed the thought as he extinguished his cigarette. 

From above, thunder crackled through the sky as Charon started towards Paradise Falls.


	4. Sentimental moments, ghouls, and combat inhibitors — oh, my!

The trip back to the compound had been mostly uneventful, minus a few straggling ferals who wanted to play ragdoll between Michelle, Butcher, and Butch. Apparently the other rangers presence went on unnoticed, much to the trio’s hearty dismay. Though Michelle really had to give it to them, and their efforts even as they were steadily being pumped full of lead. 

“Damn, persistent bastards, aren’t they?” 

Donovan’s voice was gruff, and full of clear aggravation as the group continued through Anacostia crossing, towards the camp. After the remaining ghouls had been finished off, the trip quickly became relatively quiet, except for Butcher’s occasional soft groaning. Which, in the very least gave indication he wasn’t going to give up just yet. Though the relief upon the other rangers hauling the medic up from out her and Butch’s grasp had been enormous, and since that the last word Michelle had received was that they’d managed to get him stable, and even somewhat coherent again. He’d be running a little ragged for awhile, but he’d make it through. 

While Butch had wandered off elsewhere to assist Donovan with some things, Michelle had taken it upon herself to check up on Butcher, sitting quietly up on one of the adjacent gurneys, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept. The motion seeming to just about lull herself to sleep as she fought against heavy, drooping eyelids. Finally realizing just how exhausted she really was, and not to mention how _sore_ , too. Though it wasn’t until she opened her eyes and found herself standing outside the lodge of Jacobstown did she get the distinctive feeling that something was a bit off.. 

_”Lily?”_

__

__

_The nightkin dressed in the worn shawl and floppy shade hat was crouched near some mutated peonies, her large hands working to carefully pull some unwanted guests from her garden. Still seeming unaware of her presence, Michelle took a hesitant step forward._

 _Even as much as she had grown to love ‘grandma Lily’, the nightkin reputation still sometimes got the better of the courier, and she always figured it was best _not_ to sneak up on a nightkin anyway, especially while they were tending to their peonies. _

__

__

_“Lily, it’s Michelle.”_

__

__

_Lily’s working hands came to a long pause before she raised her head, glancing around before finally settling on Michelle, who was waving a tentative hand. After a few more moments of prolonged silence, some recognition finally came over the nightkin’s face, followed by joyous laughter as she worked to straighten herself back onto her feet. Her arms outstretched wide and Michelle couldn’t help but to laugh, stepping into the inviting embrace. Even for something so powerful, she always managed to carry a wave of tenderness about her._

__

__

_Taking a step backwards, Lily kept her hands on the courier’s shoulders as she looked her over, seeming to work through a series of her own emotions._

__

__

_“Dearie.. you’re back! Leo was persistent in reminding me that you’d be b—”_

__

__

_Lily’s words slurred off into something unintelligible, and Michelle squinted at her, trying to make sense of what the nightkin was saying. Looking down, she noticed the beautiful peonies were gone, or well.. more like they were morphing into the earth._

_Glancing back to Lily, she noticed the nightkin seemed to be fading, the blue hues of her skin washing away at the edges in a manner that almost reminded the courier of a bad trip she’d had after trying jet for the first time. Despite her best efforts to grasp at Lily, before she faded away or became sucked down into the earth, nothing worked. Her hands slipped right through, like Lily was nothing more than an apparition. Like this was all just a—_

“Dammit!” 

The sound of metal surgical tools sliding and clanking off their small rollaway table was enough to startle Michelle out from her slumber, her hand immediately reaching to grasp for the pistol strapped to her thigh. Her breathing was heavy, and all she could hear at first was the thrum of her heartbeat in her ears until Butch spoke again, his palms raised to his chest and a small pile of clothing now at his feet. 

“So I’m just gonna mark down _no_ for reference for any future sleepovers.” 

Butch’s tone was unamused as he dropped his hands, moving instead to pluck the dropped items of clothing from off the ground. 

“Christ.. sorry, Butch. You just scared the hell out of me. I’m surprised you didn’t wake Butcher, too.” 

Michelle lowered her pistol, giving an exasperated sigh before shooting a weary glance to Butch, who was now frozen mid-gesture, a garment of clothing hanging from the ends of his fingertips as he glared over at her. Giving a soft snort as she reholstered her pistol, she watched Butch as he plopped the pile of clothing on the gurney next to her, an apologetic look forming across her features. Giving a soft sigh, Butch didn’t make any effort to move away, his dark gaze seeming to burn holes through her instead before he finally spoke. His voice much gentler now. 

“Were you having a nightmare? It sounded like you were talking in your sleep.” 

Michelle blinked, shifting uncomfortably as she tried to formulate a response. It was already embarrassing enough she’d apparently been talking outloud in her sleep, much less being caught by Butch. But then again, how do you go about explaining you were on the verge of being emotional over a grandmotherly mutant just tending to her peonies? She knew how she’d sound to Butch, but before she could think of anything to retort, the rainfly to the tent was pulled back, and Donovan stepped through. His stern expression quickly morphing into that of confusion at the sight of the pair, before settling on something that closely resembled embarrassment. Dropping his gaze to the ground infront of them, the ranger cleared his throat. 

“Didn’t, uh.. didn’t mean to interrupt anything but just wanted to share our appreciation again. For everything.” 

Donovan shifted his gaze to meet Michelle’s, and any fleeting expression of embarrassment was left wiped clean. It was now the man who held pride in who he was, and what he stood for. The courier gave a firm smile, and a brief nod of her head, grateful for more than just the interruption of Butch’s question. The ranger returned the gesture before glancing down to the pile of clothing that rested near her, his expression becoming relaxed once more. 

“I hope those will work. We gathered up what we could, and what looked like might fit. You look about Riley’s size, so we went with that.” 

Reaching to pull the pile of clothing into her lap, Michelle squeezed them tightly to her frame, giving a bright smile. She’d be lying if she said a change of clothes, _any_ clothes, wouldn’t be nice. The ones she currently adorned were beyond bloodied and filthy, and they had a sticky feel of clinging to her skin in a way that made her feel disgusting. The smell wasn’t anything much more pleasant either, but she tried to shove it down with the hopeful thought of a bath sometime soon after they’d returned to Underworld. 

“They’re perfect, Donovan. Thank you.” 

Giving a nod in response, Donovan eyed Butch, motioning with a tilt of his head for him to follow. 

“Let’s give the lady some privacy so she can get changed.” 

As Donovan and Butch slipped outside, Michelle slipped off from the gurney, shooting a glance towards Butcher’s resting form. It seemed he still hadn’t moved, almost resembling that of a corpse in his absolute stillness, except for that soft rise and fall of his chest. Part of her almost half expected for the ranger to suddenly wake up as she turned her back on him, stripping out of her ruined garments. Then again, she was still expecting to wake up herself. To find that this all had just been some vivid dream, much like the one with Lily. 

While pulling a worn, black t-shirt down over her head, she found she could make out some of the bits and pieces of the conversation between Butch and Donovan. Butch was discussing his life underground, back in vault 101. From Donovan’s retorting tone, she assumed he wasn’t exactly impressed. But the concept of leading a life in a vault always seemed to perplex those born and raised above ground, Michelle included. She’d seen a variety of vaults back in the Mojave, each one being all the more stranger than the next. Sure the living desert or even the capital wasteland wasn’t all picket fences and daisies, but standing in comparison some of those vaults sure made it seem that way. Butch being here, and not back underground, just seemed to be more of a testament to that fact. 

Slipping on the pair of jeans and the rest of her gear, Michelle gave one last glance towards Butcher, watching until she took notice of the rise and fall of his chest, before slipping outside, earning herself a shared pair of curious glances in her direction. She knew that as much as they’d enjoy staying a little while longer, Butch filling the rangers in on more of his vault-stories, there was still an urgency down deep in her bones that said it was time to move. Plus, she figured it’d be better now, so they’d be able to make it back to Underworld by late afternoon, as well as avoid anymore groups of ghouls traveling back through Anacostia Crossing. 

“Donovan. We should probably get going, while it’s still daybreak. Plus you all have enough on your hands as is.. we don’t wanna be a burden any longer.” 

Donovan scoffed as Michelle gave a gentle shrug, his dark eyes twinkling with mild amusement as he regarded her for a moment. Though he looked absolutely exhausted, the fine lines etched into his face becoming even more prominent now, he still seemed.. more at peace. Even if only for the moment. 

“Nonesense. You and that boy are welcome here anytime. You just let Reilly know we’ll be sending troops down to fetch her soon. She’ll appreciate knowing everyone’s now safe and sound. 

Now, if y’all are set on heading out, I guess we’ll be seeing you.. You take care now.”

The trip back to the Museum of History had been mostly uneventful. No ragdolling ferals, but instead just more of Butch’s reminiscing. Michelle supposed his conversation with Donovan had stirred some old, but still relatively fresh, memories from vault 101. He touched on many subjects, speaking fervently about his alcoholic mother, the vault Overseer, his old gang, and even some girl who he explained was once referred to as the _Lone Wanderer_ : a piece to the origin of the downfall of vault 101, but an important key in Butch’s escape. 

When prompted about her importance, Butch seemed disinterested. From what he’d heard back in the Muddy Rudder was that she’d been taken down by enclave soldiers, right alongside her father over some water purity project for the wasteland. 

”Sounds like they died trying to defend something far bigger than the both of them.. Not sure in this case if it’s considered noble, or just ignorant.” 

“Yeah.. guess it doesn’t matter much either way now, though.” 

“Fair enough point.” 

A few more names were mentioned, perhaps ones of smaller importance in the eyes of the wasteland, but ones that Butch claimed were once part of his own gang within the vault. The Tunnel Snakes. Butch spoke about how he always wanted his gang to be something more than just some small fry wannabes, and that apparently the rest of the boys back in the vault just hadn’t been cut out for that kind of life, or so as Butch had put it. 

After he’d had his share of prattle, the pair walked in silence for awhile, and though Butch didn’t prompt her, she could still feel the wave of unanswered questions that had been lingering between them since Riley’s compound. So Michelle decided it was her turn to slowly start peeling back the layers of her own past that she’d kept oh so delicately tucked away. Starting with her dream of Lily, and even brief mentions of Raul. 

“Huh.. so you were friends with mutants _and_ ghouls? Ha! I bet you could probably charm a deathclaw out of it’s hide.” 

Butch shot a look towards Michelle, a shit-eating grin spread across his face as he gave a playful nudge of his shoulder. She couldn’t help but to laugh, giving a roll of her eyes as she nudged him back, silently thankful for his banter putting a lighter feel back on the present after all the reminiscing. As they finally began to make their way towards the entrance to the Museum, Michelle took notice of Willow leaning against the worn brick and mortar, arms crossed around her chest and looking rather bored as she watched the two approach. 

“Hey, tourists. Welcome back. Was starting to think you’d become mutant chow out there.” 

She gave a gentle hum in retort, Butch shooting a sidelong glare towards the ghoulette, though remaining quiet. For a brief moment she was certain she’d seen the corners of Willow’s lips turn upwards, an amused twinkle shining in her dark gaze as they walked past, disappearing inside the museum. 

The first time the pair had stumbled across the Museum of History, Willow had left what Butch referred to as a bad-lasting impression on the Tunnel Snake, by firing a shot at a super mutant approaching a ways behind him. However, according to Butch the ghoulette had done it intentionally, _barely missing the sweet face of his._ No amount of convincing seemed to sway him otherwise, but Michelle knew if Willow had intended to ruin someone’s face, she wouldn’t have had to fire twice. 

Stepping through the door into the museum was always a strange experience. The novelty never really seeming to wear off as Michelle would stand below the giant replica of the mammuthus primigenius, her fingers sliding over the artificial fur. She had once made a joke to Butch about the possibility of ever running into one again, and he’d retorted with _”Deathclaws and behemoths being enough.”_

She supposed he was right on that one. 

Walking up the stairs and through the double doors overlooked by the giant skeleton of Underworld, the pair were almost immediately greeted by the residents _guard dog_ — well, mister gusty, Cerberus. 

_**”ATTENTION!**_ Scanning for hostile life forms!” 

“You damn rust bucket! We’ve been here already! Besides, it’s not like we’re coming in here guns blazing.. atleast not _yet_.” 

Butch glared at Cerberus and before Michelle could turn to reprimand him for popping off to a mister gutsy, of all things, she took notice of the robot’s cybernetic eyestalks. Extending outwards in an offensive position and dilating momentarily, she was worried there WOULD be guns blazing after all until.. 

“Sarcasm detected. No immediate threat — if not for this damn combat inhibitor, I’d send you to hell along with these rotting zombie maggots! 

Go Underworld! Go Ghouls! Oh, dammit..” 

“Nice to see my programming is still holding up nicely.” 

A ghoul in a worn mechanic’s jumpsuit walked up towards Butch and Michelle, his hands shoved down into his pockets, and a halfhearted smile on his lips. Butch watched the ghoul wearily as he approached, trying, and failing, to hide the disdain worn heavy across his face. While Michelle seemed to remain calm and collected, even friendly, in a city full of ghouls, Butch still had his reservations. Judging from the dark, sunken sidelong stares, he figured they were atleast on the same page. 

“Oh, come on, now. Cerberus seems as chipper as ever. I think it’s his dazzling AI.” 

Michelle grinned as Winthrop gave a scoff, gently shaking his head. His gaze shifted momentarily to Butch, giving a brief nod of acknowledgement before focusing his attention back on Michelle. Taking the silent notion, Butch shuffled over to take a seat nearby, ignoring the uncomfortable stares and his obvious out of place presence as the ghoul in the mechanics jumpsuit cozied up to his companion. Gushing on about _scrap metal_ , and promises of other precious commodities.. 

It was going to be awhile.


	5. Paradise Falls, and other things that aren’t quite what the name would suggest

“So.. uncle Ahzrukal. Is that like, uh, a fetish of his or somethin’?”

A raider with short, greasy red hair grinned up at Charon, his mouth working at the end of a toothpick as they stood outside the slaver pens in Paradise Falls. Charon refused to entertain the man, instead focusing in on the weary gazes that peered towards them from across the yard. Most of the slavers huddled together, as if there really was such a thing as strength in numbers, or perhaps comfort. Not that either really mattered in a place like this. 

Charon gave a single nod towards a younger woman sitting a ways off by herself. A small, frail thing in a ratty dress that clung to her form in the most unappealing manner. She seemed disinterested in the commotion going on around her, instead focused on dragging circles through the dry earth below her with a single digit. 

“That one.” 

“ _Shiiitt!_ He really knows how to pick em’, don’t he? 

Hey, you! There in the back. Get front and center!” 

The slaver laughed as he beat against the chain link fence, shock baton gripped firmly in hand. All the faces that weren’t paying any attention before were now, save for the woman drawing circles across the ground, seeming to be anywhere but here. This didn’t seem to please the man, judging by the ugly scowl that crossed his features as his gaze narrowed into a tight squint. His hand clenched tighter around the baton as beat the chain fence once more, his voice lower and more demanding now. 

“Hey, _bitch_! No wonder your last owner returned ya. Don’t know how to fuckin’ listen. Maybe ol’ Ahzrukal can beat some sense into you, huh?” 

The woman froze, her digit still pressed against the ground as she timidly raised her gaze, moving between both Charon and the slaver. Ever so slowly, almost in a mechanical fashion, she stood, pausing for the briefest of moments before shuffling on bare feet towards them. As she neared, Charon took notice of the way her ribs protruded from underneath her dress, her sunken cheeks, and how the inner plains of her arms were littered with track marks and deep bruises. Ones Charon’s gaze traced like connecting constellations until she caught his stare, folding her arms across her chest, hiding them from view. 

“This is, ahh.. what’s your name again, sweetie?” 

The raider gave a click of his tongue as he roughly unlocked the gate, reaching to grasp an arm of the woman a little too tight as she shuffled out from the pen. The woman winced, her body tilted about as far away from the slaver as she could get, despite him pulling her in close, his mouth to her ear whispering things Charon couldn’t decipher. After a few long moments, the woman’s body posture went slack, her gaze focused down towards Charon’s boots as she finally answered. A voice surprisingly so soft and quiet, the ghoul almost didn’t catch it. 

“Annie.” 

“Annie. Annie! Well, Annie, you’re going to a new home! I suggest you be on your best behavior because you fuck this one up and there’ll be no comin’ back, sweetheart. Ya dig?” 

Annie seemed to struggle with the raider’s words, her expression changing between multiple series of emotions before finally settling on that of realization, and then horror. _There’ll be no comin’ back._ Charon knew the workings of Paradise Falls enough to know that the slaves were on borrowed time unless they acted right. One would almost say they were treated like Brahmin, except even Brahmin had better living than this. 

The walk back to the Ninth Circle was quiet, which was unsurprising. Charon figured a tall, burly ghoul wasn’t exactly the best traveling companion to strike up conversation with, even for a slave. Not that he would’ve been able to offer much, anyway. A few times Annie had made a display of fidgeting with the slaver collar around her neck, a gesture Charon avoided acknowledging until he heard her gently clear her throat, her gaze focused on something far off into the distance as she addressed him under a name that felt like setting his skin alight. 

“Ahzrukal—“ 

“I am not Ahzrukhal.” 

Charon cut Annie off, stopping in place as he stared down at her, his eyes narrowed as regarded him with those wide brown eyes of hers. 

“Then who are you?” 

The ghoul paused, knowing that her question had a depths deeper than intended, but went with what was most simple: 

“Charon. Ahzrukhal is my employer.” 

Whether or not this answer seemed to sate her, Charon didn’t know. However he didn’t hear another word from the woman as they continued their journey back to Underworld. The slave collar also remained further untouched as Charon walked behind her, shotgun clutched in his hands as he watched for hostiles around them, all while knowing he may as well have been one of them. 

_Who are you?_

_Back in Underworld.._  
“What is with that guy?” 

Butch asked aloud as the two made their way into Underworld’s _Chop Shop_. She knew he was asking about Winthrop, who seemed to make a habit of stopping Michelle every chance he got, inquiring about scrap metal, sensor modules, and other general conversation about the outside world. Not that it bothered her. Winthrop was sweet enough, and she never minded helping where she could. Plus if she was being entirely honest, she already found that she was quickly becoming enamored with Winthrop, Carol, Tulip, and a few other of the ghouls of Underworld. Hell, even Cerebus was becoming tolerable, even if his so-called pleasantries were entirely fabricated. 

“What about him?” 

If Winthrop had heard Butch’s comment, he didn’t acknowledge it, Michelle noticed as she shot a glance over her shoulder. The ghoul was instead quietly cursing to himself as he fidgeted with something between his hands. From beside her, Butch scoffed. 

“Are you serious? Dude seems to have a thing for you. Why else would he stop you every time you come by to ask about _”scrap metal”_. 

She tossed Butch a glare as he pulled open the door to Barrow’s shop, the corners of her mouth pulling down, unamused with Butch’s assessment, and not to mention his terrible use of air quotes. 

“Just because someone’s nice to you, Butch, doesn’t mean they want to get into your pants.” 

Ignoring whatever else Butch muttered on about, the courier stepped into the medical clinic, noting the stale smell of the room alongside the faintest hint of alcohol. Doctor Borrow’s was working steadily on wiping down one of the gurneys, his back turned to them both. Nurse Graves seemed to be out, but off in the corner, Reilly seemed busy scratching away at paper on a clipboard, completely oblivious to the arrival of new guests. Not Borrows, however. Without turning from his task, the doctor called out to his newcoming guests. 

“Patchwork, unless it’s something serious this time, it can wait. We’re fixing to head out on break— ..oh, it’s you.” 

Throwing the now dirtied rag he’d been using onto an adjacent surgical tool table, Barrow’s gave Michelle a once over, his milky gaze every bit disapproving as she tried to hide the sheepish smile that kept involuntarily pulling at the corner of her lips. The ghoul clicked his tongue, giving a gentle shake of his head as he turned to begin to put away his supplies. 

“Look a little roughed up. Are you trying to get killed out there? You’re not immortal, you know.” 

“Yeah, she seems to like to press her luck with these little _fetch quests_.. I helped saved her after a super mutant attack back at _Our Lady Hope_ hospital.” 

Butch stepped forward, seeming rather proud of himself. Barrow’s continued with his task, his back still turned as he gave a ‘hmpf.’ From her corner, Reilly raised her head, recognition shining bright in emerald eyes as she sat her clipboard down onto her lap. 

“Well you did a pretty shoddy job—” 

“Hey, you’re back! How’d it go? Did you find the rest of the group?” 

“Ah— we did, and they’re okay.” 

Michelle gave a gentle smile, ignoring Butch’s quiet curses as Reilly’s features seem to relax hearing the good news. She could just imagine what it’d been like waiting for their return, or wondering if they’d return at all. 

“Butcher got a little roughed up, but they had him stable by the time we left. They’re all back, safe and sound at the compound. They’ll be sending a group here to get you soon.” 

As Reilly ushered Michelle and Butch her thanks, pleading for them to come visit the compound again _”under better circumstances”_ , the courier’s attention was divided off to doctor Barrows. She would be amazed if the ghoul could look anymore just completely unamused, but it was then she also realized he’d mentioned about being on his way to a break. So after quickly wrapping up the pleasantries, Michelle hauled Butch out from the _Chop Shop_ before Barrow’s glaring gaze would begin to burn holes into the backs of both their heads. 


	6. The Ninth Circle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief descriptions of sexual content towards the end of this chapter.

She had subconsciously been avoiding the Ninth Circle. 

Then again, so had Butch, but the former vault dweller still didn’t seem quite ready to start mingling with ghouls all on his own. Carol was an exception to this, however, though Michelle believed she could make anyone feel at home with her gentle words and mothering nature. 

“You two should be more careful out there! It’s dangerous ya know.. even more for you humans.”

Carol gently swatted at Butch’s shoulder and the Tunnel Snake gave a sheepish grin, eyeing the sweet roll she’d placed on an off-green colored plate infront of him. Pinching a piece off the side and shoving it into his mouth, Butch eyed Michelle from across the table, to which she retorted with a single, raised brow. She could already see where this one was going.

“Yeah, well tell that to _this_ one. Girl seems to love throwing herself into dangerous situations.”

“Pfft. Whatever, Butch. Like D.C isn’t a _dangerous situation_ in itself?”

Michelle gave a roll of her eyes, but the smile that followed across her lips immediately after implied she was only teasing. As Carol returned with a second sweet roll, this one on a bright red colored plate, she placed it infront of Michelle, giving her shoulder a gentle pat before shuffling off back to her place behind her counter. As the two sat, Butch picking at his sweet roll and Michelle staring down at hers, he decided on the one topic she’d been trying to avoid since they’d returned to Underworld.

“So, what’s with you and not wanting to visit the bar here with me?”

Butch plucked the last of his sweet roll from off his plate, and without prompt she gently slid hers towards him. She wasn’t quite hungry, much less for something sweet, no offense meant to Carol. Michelle shrugged, ignoring proper table equite as she folded her arms across the tabletop infront of her. She knew from the Muddy Rutter that the bar scene was typically one of Butch’s favorite places, aside from anywhere with a barber chair. 

“Figured you just didn’t want to be drank underneath the table is all.”

“What? _Bullshit!_ 100 caps says you can’t do shit!”

Speaking with a mouth full of some half-chewed sweet roll, Michelle raised a hand to cover her laugh at Butch’s bravado. Truth be told, she would kill for a drink. She was just busy weighing the odds of the mean hangover and the spiraling depression that could possibly be lingering just underneath the surface, ready to pull her down when she’d be at her most vulnerable.

Anyone with half a brain knew the two don’t concoct well together, but Butch willing to throw down some caps just to try and prove a point was making the offer a little more than tempting, despite the labefaction. Reaching to pop the cap off a warm Nuka Cola, Michelle raised the bottle to her lips, only to pause briefly, a defiant smirk crossing her lips as she stared Butch down. The Tunnel Snake paused mid-chew, as if they were now in the middle of a stand off, and not just at a booth in Carol’s diner.

“Fine, Butch. Put your money where your mouth is. 100 caps says I drink you under the table tonight.”

After finishing up at the diner, Michelle had tried to slip off outside for a bit to have a smoke, but was instead intercepted by Underworld’s own hairdresser, Snowflake. Which, if being a hairdresser for ghouls wasn’t strange enough, the dark shades and silver pompadour wig he adored constantly definitely were. It was no wonder the ghoul did most of his work for free, aside from well.. the lack of hair overall.

“No charge! Just _please_ let me do something with that hair of yours. I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen a full head so voluptuous.”

Michelle shifted uncomfortably, squinting at the ghoul as she tried to conjure a way to politely tell Snowflake that there was no way in hell she’d let him touch her hair after she’d witnessed him shoving empty jet containers out of view just moments before. Butch had even persistently offered his own special if she’d just let him take a trim. She’d promptly informed him that if he came anywhere near her head with a pair of scissors, she’d take a trim off something a bit more precious to the Tunnel Snake.

Her hair, as trivial as it seemed, was something dear to her. While the wasteland made a point to strip everything from someone, her hair still allowed her to carry her wave of femininity. Not to mention the amount of time, effort, and care that she dedicated into maintaining the golden locks of hers. She trusted no other hands to take on such a delicate task, but yet.. she surprised herself, sliding into that worn barber chair as Snowflake snapped a pair of scissors excitedly. 

“Alright, baby! You’ve got the body and the face, now time to make the hair match.”

Michelle laughed, but the sound didn’t seem quite like her own. Nerves seemed to already be getting the best of her as the ghoul’s nimble fingers worked quickly to comb through her hair. Snowflake must’ve picked up on this, as he decided to strike up conversation the moment he began snipping. Michelle couldn’t help to wince, desperately trying to ignore the stands of hair cascading their way down her back and shoulders and onto the floor below her.

“So.. who’s the stud you’ve been bringing back and forth here?”

“Stud? You mean Butch?”

She couldn’t help but to smile at Snowflake’s choice of nickname, the diversion of conversation already proving to be advantageous as she felt herself slowly relaxing. The sound of scissors snipping away at dead ends becoming almost soothing, as opposed to the initial terror. Scratch what was said earlier, if ghouls had a lick of hair, Snowflake would be better off _not_ doing his work for free. If he was this good ghoul, she could just imagine what the was like pre-war.

“Yeah, yeah! He’s a looker, eh? You two make quite the couple.”

“Uh, me and Butch, we aren’t together. We’re just.. companions.”

Snowflake’s hands froze in Michelle’s hair for a brief moment as he registered this information, giving a soft hum as a light blush crossed over her cheeks. Is that really how everyone saw them? She was certain they’d spent most of their time fighting or bickering, so she was uncertain as to why Snowflake, or anyone else for that matter, would make such an assumption.

“Well that’s a damn shame. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Not that I can blame him, of course. You’re a doll, sweetheart.”

Snowflake gave a raspy chuckle as he gently patted a hand on her shoulder, however Michelle was all the obvious to his teasing ways as she tried to recall all the ways Butch had ever looked at her. Most weren’t exactly with admiration, much less anything more. If anything, from his attitude most time, she was surprised if the Tunnel Snake didn’t completely loathe her guts. As to why he hadn’t turned tail back to Rivet City was honestly beyond her.

She sat in silence as Snowflake continued with his work, his hands working at her ends, wrapping the strands up in curlers before fixing them to the top of her head. A few other ghouls, she assumed other residents of Underworld, shuffled in and about. Most kept to themselves, seeming lost in their own bubbles, but a few shot curious and wondering glances in their direction. One ghoul, assumed to be an older gentleman, gave Snowflake a wide grin and a thumbs up before disappearing off towards the Ninth Circle. Michelle had opened her mouth to ask what the gesture was supposed to mean, but decided against it instead, figuring it was best she didn’t know. Some of the other Underworld residents seemed to be a bit more.. peculiar than others, and not exactly in the best way.

“Alright, honey. Almost done. You ready to take a gander?” 

Snowflake chuckled gently, running his comb through stands of hair after releasing the curlers from their hold. Michelle could feel herself growing nervous again, watching as the ghoul finally took a step back to give his handy work a once over. She hoped the lopsided grin that crossed his face was from more than just the jet. Moving to grasp a worn hand held mirror from off his station, Snowflake thrust it into the courier’s hands, prompting her to take a look. 

“.. _oh._ ” 

Michelle’s gaze went wide as saucers as she tentatively reached for one of the loose, blonde curls that rested just a ways below her shoulder. It looked.. good. Almost too good, in fact. She felt like this style fit better with her in Vera’s dress, back in New Vegas watching performers on stage underneath the bright, neon lights. Not in some musty museum full of ghouls, dressed in some faded grey low-cut blouse and jeans she’d purchased from Tulip earlier that day. 

But.. still. It felt right. It felt okay. 

“Do you like it? Personally I feel like it’s my best work yet.” 

Snowflake leaned against his station, raising a leg as he crossed his arms across his chest, a bright red canister of jet dangling from one hand. When or _where_ he’d gotten it was beyond her, but she overlooked that fact, lowering the mirror instead to smile brightly towards the ghoul. Like it? She **loved** it. Giving a gentle shake of her head, she continued to beam as her curls bounced around her. 

“It’s wonderful, Snowflake.. truly. Thank you.” 

“Heh, no thanks necessary, sweetheart. Thanks for indulging me a little. Feels nice to pick up the shears again.” 

Snowflake grinned, reaching a hand to help her out from the chair. Giving everything one last look over, Michelle made her way back out into the lobby of Underworld, quickly slipping past Winthrop while he still had his back turned for a long awaited cigarette. Pulling a pack out from her small knapsack, she shoved a slender cigarette between her lips, using a gold-plated flip lighter to light up before taking a long drag. 

Standing at the foot of the stairs to the entrance of Underworld, she stared out into the main hall of the Museum of History. The place seemed to hold even more of an eerie silence while being alone, and behind the floating dust particles and wafting cigarette smoke, the mammuthus primigenius seemed even more ominous in it’s permanently frozen state. However, so lost in her own cogitation, Michelle found herself just about jumping out of her own skin at the sound of the doors to the museum opening up. Her hand instinctively flying to the pistol strapped to her hip as she squinted across the main hall, cigarette dangling from between her lips as she waited.

The sound of something resembling that of quiet shuffling increased as she listened, trailed by the sound of heavier footsteps. As they grew closer, she felt an odd chill run down her spine as her gaze focused in first on a small woman, her head lowered to the floor as she moved along. However, what caught her attention most was the all too familiar glint of a metal slave collar, latched tightly the woman’s neck. The harsh crimson glow giving indication it was indeed live, and active. 

Sliding her gaze upwards, she met a pair of piercing blue eyes, staring straight back at her. They belonged to a tall, burly ghoul with patchy red hair, who seemed to be leading the small woman. His mouth was pressed into a tight, thin line and while she noted his shotgun slung across his shoulder, she made the assumption it wouldn’t take but a blink of an eye for him to have it ready and back in his hands. Michelle could tell the mercenary type, and this ghoul seemed almost textbook.  
Well, _almost_. 

Neither of them said a word as they passed by. The woman didn’t even so much advert her gaze up from the ground as they disappeared into Underworld. It wasn’t until they were both inside that she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her hand still firmly grasped around her pistol. She’d waited as they crossed the main hall for one of them to say or do _something_ , but neither had. However, seeing the collar had made her feel ill, and as she sunk down onto the stairs to Underworld, she disposed of the spent cigarette, opting instead to light another just as the doors behind her opened again. 

“Oh! Hey, there you are! I’ve been—..” 

Butch’s words trailed off as he stepped outside Underworld, and for a moment Michelle wondered if her piercing glare had silenced him, only to realize that the Tunnel Snake seemed to be.. blushing? Butch coughed, shifting awkwardly as he stumbled over himself, searching for an explanation for his sudden dumbfoundness. 

“I— ..your hair.” 

Michelle raised a brow, the face of the ghoul and the woman still racing through her mind. She swore she could still feel the touch of the cold steel trapped around her own throat in a still all too familiar resurfacing memory as she struggled to keep up with Butch’s sudden presence. Her thoughts flip flopping between old history, and the new information Snowflake had let slip out earlier. 

“What about it?”

As soon as the words slipped from between her lips, she couldn’t help to flinch at the inflection in her own tone. Butch seemed to catch this, recoiling slightly but still throwing it right back in his traditional way. 

“It looks alright, but next time you should just come see me. I can give your hair better than that chem-high _Snowflake_. Just didn’t expect you to drop your standards so low.” 

Crossing his arms over his chest, Butch gave a huff, glaring down at Michelle as she took a long drag off her cigarette. There he was. Good ol’ Butch. 

Extinguishing the remnants of her smoke, she pulled herself back up onto her feet, dusting off her backside as she momentarily paused her aggravation. Pondering if she should inform Butch of the strange ghoul and the woman with the slave collar, but something told her to swallow it down. The taste was something thick, but she figured it could wait.. for now. She’d bring it up to him later, when they were back at Carol’s. 

“So.. you forfeiting already?” 

Butch smirked as she glared at him, clicking her tongue. It was going to be a long night. The Ninth Circle, contrary to it’s name, proved to be a bit more than.. lacking. Stepping through the doors, they were greeted with a stale, lingering scent, and the underlying aroma of alcohol. Not to mention the sets of eyes that also turned in their direction, including one of a ghastly looking ghoul in a dirtied white pinstriped suit standing behind the bar. Michelle gently nudged Butch’s side, nodding towards the empty barstools as she gave him a sidelong smirk. _Your idea._

Trailing behind as Butch made his way through the Ninth, Michelle tried to ignore the not-so-obvious stares that continued their direction as they both took a seat at the bar, watching as the ghoul in the dirty white suit approached. His sunken gaze immediately dropped to Michelle’s cleavage as he leaned in against the bar, a smirk creeping up to his ruined lips.

“Well lookee here. We got us a pair of smoothskins that I ain’t ever seen before. I’m Ahzrukal, and this.. this is the Ninth Circle. 

Folks got problems, and I got liquor to sell em’.. well, liquor and a few other pick me ups. You need anything, you just let me know.”

 _How charming._ Michelle forced a small smile, already imagining what other “pick me ups” he quite possibly had available. From beside her, Butch leaned in across the bar, oblivious to the look Ahzrukal shot him before putting on his best bartender face. Which, for him, she had to admit, wasn’t much better.

“Hey, why don’t you uh, start us with a couple beers, then after that we’ll take some shots. Keep em’ coming, too.”

She caught the irate twitch of the exposed muscle in Ahzrukal’s cheek as he gave another cryptic smile. As he turned towards her, she made a show of smiling sweetly and leaning forward just the slightest. As charming as Butch was, he still didn’t seem to grasp proper etiquette in more delicate situations. It had already been made quite obvious that many of the ghouls of Underworld were still rather wary of “smoothskins” being out and about in their territory, and she figured it best to not give them anymore a reason to spit in their drinks. Giving a brief nod of thanks as Ahzrukal placed two bottles infront them, Butch turned to grin at Michelle, gently clanking her bottle with his own. 

“Bottoms up.”

Multiple beers and shots downed later, Michelle was certain she was no longer in the Ninth Circle, but instead floating blissfully in some purgatory. The alcohol running through her system made her surroundings more vibrant and ethereal, or maybe it was something else.. She’d stopped paying attention to Ahzrukal’s grimy hands pouring her drinks hours ago. 

Instead, she now found herself just about slipping off from the barstool as she laughed outloud, clutching at her sides over some lame joke Butch had tried to tell in between a fit of his own inebriated giggles and laughter. If asked later what the punchline was supposed to be, she was certain neither of them would’ve been able to answer, even if their lives depended on it. 

“So.. w-who won, B.. Butch?” 

Michelle grinned, still swaying gently back and forth on the barstool as she threw back another shot. Butch, who was now finishing off the last of another bottle of beer, snorted aloud as rested his bottle on the bartop before sliding off from his seat. 

“S’say I did, and call it g-good.” 

She squinted at him as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her off from the stool, to which she reluctantly allowed. Her feet stumbled over the other as she laughed again, clinging onto Butch as the two attempted to make their way out of the Ninth. Ahzrukal seemed to have taken a leave of absence earlier on in the night, leaving the two to their vices as the bar slowly emptied out. Though on their way staggering out from the bar, Michelle spotted a familiar red-headed ghoul, standing off in the far corner of the bar. His arms were crossed over his broad chest as his gaze seemed to be burning holes through both her and Butch. 

She blinked, hard, a few times. Trying to clear her fuzzy vision as she tried to decipher if she was seeing things in her alcohol-induced state, or if the ghoul was really there. As they passed, he seemed to not move. Only those piercing blue eyes that followed them all the way out from the Ninth. It wasn’t until they’d made it back to Carol’s that Michelle realized she was still clinging onto Butch, and made a sloppy attempt to move back off him, stumbling slightly in the process. The light, spinning merriment from earlier was beginning to wear off, and the alcohol that was swimming in her belly was beginning to settle, and so was she. Screw the 100 caps. Butch could have em. 

“I.. I guess you do win, Butch. M’ tired.” 

“Hm?” 

Butch squinted towards Michelle, seemingly to also be a little unsteady on his own feet, or perhaps that was just her. Everything seemed so out of focus, and she tried to wrack at her brain the last time alcohol had ever made her feel _this_ way.. Yet again, so wrapped up in her own cogitation, she almost didn’t catch Butch speaking until she forced herself to focus on him, trying to process the words as they were drunkenly falling from between his lips. 

“I didn’t.. m-mean what I said. I like it.” 

Butch reached a hand out to touch one of the curls that rested on her shoulder, taking the opportunity to step in closer. Almost too close. The thought of pushing Butch back had crossed somewhere in the depths of her mind, but was quickly swept away as she took notice of how _warm_ he seemed to be. He felt hot to the touch across her skin as his palms slid across her shoulders, his face contorting into a series of different emotions, abstract paintings forming and changing before her very eyes. 

She knew something was definitely wrong, and pondered if Ahzrukal had done something.. _something._ She tried to cling to the fleeting thought as it slipped through her mind, just as Butch was moving in, brushing his lips against hers in a soft, gentle kiss. She couldn’t help but to momentarily feel frozen in the moment, her breath caught somewhere in the confines of her chest as Butch pulled just the slightest bit away, his face seeming more vibrant and alive than she’d ever seen him. In the depths of his bright, blue eyes she swore she could’ve found every emotion, every answer she’d ever pondered, laid wide open and vulnerable there. 

“Butch..” 

His name barely had time to finish slipping from between her lips before his were now crashing onto hers. Tender, yet full of passion and yearning. She returned this with her own burning fervor, her arms moving around his neck as he pulled her in close. Fueled by the haze of intoxication, repercussions went straight to the back burner. They could reminisce on what they’d done later. 

Butch’s hand trailed up along her side underneath her blouse before grasping at one plump breast, his hand working over the mound as she moaned softly against him. Working between them, her hand trailed it’s way down the length of Butch’s chest, pausing just shy of the top of his belt buckle. Breaking the kiss, she met Butch’s gaze before giving a soft, breathless chuckle. Even through his darker complexion, Butch’s cheeks were flushed, and his breathing labored. He would’ve been willing to bet his 100 caps that the constriction from the inside of his pants was just as obvious on the outside. 

And _hallelujah_ if his pleading prayers weren’t about to be answered as she slowly moved down onto her knees infront of him, her hands still reaching and grasping for his belt in unsteady, clumsy movements. Though definitely not as nimble as she might’ve been sober, with some help she had managed to free the confines of his pants, releasing the trousers to fall in a heap at his feet as she focused her attention on the attentive bulge underneath Butch’s boxer shorts. 

She took her time, opting to run her hand down his length in slow, teasing motions, despite his deep moans of protest, and thrusting hip movements against her touch. Finally, after she’d had enough of her own teasing, she slid his boxer shorts down to his knees, letting his manhood spring free. As she ran her fingers across the sensitive flesh, marveling at the length and girth of the muscle, she noted the bead of a pearl forming at its tip. Butch’s body seemed to tremble with great force as Michelle leaned in, running the flat of her tongue across the head, catching the iridescence drip before sliding him between her lips. 

With another moan elicited from Butch, Michelle could feel her own blossoming warmth from between her thighs as she worked him back and forth in rhythmic motion. It wasn’t long before a hand was snaking it’s way through her hair, urging her forward with trembling hands. Taking the initiative, she slipped him and all his entirety into the warm hold of her mouth before giving a soft moan of her own. Everything was becoming too much, almost tipping her over the edge as her senses flooded from spiked drinks, and the building heat forming at her core. 

However, between her own moans of pleasure, a different sound was elicited from Butch. Not a moan, but something resembling that of a low, deep growl.. Something almost too low to be human, and the hand that had slipped through her hair gripped tighter now. Almost _too_ tight. It was quickly ruining the high she’d been steadily riding. 

Michelle winced, digging her nails into the side his thigh, forcing her head back enough to glare up to Butch, a series of _”What the fucks”_ on her lips, only to be abruptly stopped short. In Butch’s place stood a different man. The cloudy haze and euphoria that had been pushing her over the ledge had pulled her back in just as abruptly as it had began as she stared up into the piercing blue gaze of the ghoul from the Ninth Circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pulled an ol’ switcharoo on y’all, didn’t I? Anyway, I hope this chapter makes up for my horrendously short one.
> 
> Also, yes. Ahzrukal did drug her. Will we find out more in the next chapter? Did this all really happen? Does Geico really save you more money on car insurance? All I have to say is:
> 
> Mmm.. perhaps.


	7. The Sierra Madre, and other fun family locations!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t take the titles seriously. I’m awful at them, so I don’t.

Her head _hurt_.

Not only that, but she felt sick to her stomach. Yet every time she found herself scrambling for the toilet, she’d only dry heave until exhaustion got the better of her, and she’d drag herself back to bed. Butch wasn’t in any better condition, except his body granted him the mercy of atleast expelling the contents of his stomach. It was just too bad it was all across Carol’s floor.

“Augh.. fuck.”

Butch coughed, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand in a disgusted motion. Scratch spiraling depression and self loathing, this was way worse. She gave a heavy sigh, willing herself to roll out of bed once more as she grasped the pail and mop from beside the door that Carol had oh so graciously provided for them that morning, along with a few bottles of purified water. 

_”You two look like you’re going to need these.”_

“Butch, just move.”

The former vault dweller was busy making a pitiful attempt to wipe at some of the vomit with an old rag, gagging all the meanwhile until she nudged him out of the way with the mop head. She’d seen bloated Brahmin in better conditions, and figured the two of them must’ve been quite the sight to behold. 

“Man, I don’t ever remember the Muddy Rudder’s liquor doing _this_ to me..”

Michelle gave a low hum in agreement as she worked away with the mop, wracking her brain as to what they’d be able to do for the smell. There was no way she was going to stay in a room full of the aroma of vomit, but she also wasn’t about to make it Carol’s problem, either. However, she couldn’t ignore the fact that Butch was indeed forming a point. She’d drank before. Hell, she’d gotten so wasted in her time back in the Mojave that she’d ended up in the gutters of Freeside, passing bottles and shooting the shit alongside Rotface. Even the next morning after hadn’t been as bad as it was now.

“Like I was fine up until my what? Fifth shot? Everything started getting hazy after that.”

They had to have been drugged.. There didn’t seem to be much more of an explanation otherwise, but _why_? To think the barkeep spitting in their drinks was the biggest initial concern. However Ahrzkual had taken a leave of absence earlier that night, so why bothering wasting the paraphernalia? The back and forth motion of her vigorous mopping came to a slow still as she started recollecting the rather.. heated moment that her and Butch had shared in Carol’s diner after having left the Ninth Circle. The very one, she remembered, where she’d ended up on her knees in front of the red-headed ghoul. 

Of course. There was still that. 

She could feel herself growing warm again, but this time the heat made her feel feverish, even dizzy, almost. Her hand gripped the handle of the mop tightly as she tried to recall if any of those events had actually happened, and while everything seemed so vibrant and _real_ , she was left with some lingering uncertainty. But Butch, being well, Butch.. surely would’ve been firing off with that loud mouth of his, bragging about their drunken sexcapade by now. 

“Are you okay? You look like you’re gonna hurl.”

Give a cough behind her palm, she nodded as she shoved the dirtied mop and pail back to it’s corner, wiping the palms of her hands awkwardly on her shorts before taking a seat at the end of the bed. As she laid back on the faded duvet, her arms crossing over her lower abdomen, she found herself tracing the cracks and fissures throughout the ceiling above. Anything to distract her mind from the recollection of the night before. 

A slight pressure formed against the mattress as a different weight came upon it, and as she angled her head, she was met with the side of Butch’s face as he settled in parallel next to her. He remained focused up at the ceiling and she found herself trying to figure if they were finally going to have some awkward post-night coitus conversation, but he remained silent. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity later, she decided to break the ice. 

“Butch.. do you remember what happened? Like after we left from the Ninth Circle?”

That got a reaction. Butch lifted and turned his head, squinting at her as if she had spoken a foreign language, or perhaps it was just the gears working sluggishly away in an attempt to recall. After another eternity later, he gave a brief shrug, and Michelle felt herself relax in just the slightest. It was a notion too casual for what she thought might’ve happened.

“Yeah, we were really fucked up. We stopped by Carol’s at some point and talked with her for a bit until Greta got mad, then we ended up back here. You were out pretty fast after that.

Hey, you think that Ahrzkual guy slipped something into our drinks? Dude screams being a fuckin’ sleeze.”

She grimaced. Carol hadn’t seemed too upset in her stop by that morning, but Greta seemed to be another story. She was like the epitome of Carol’s shadow, seeming to be on her heels at every corner. Where the ghoullette’s possessiveness seemed to originate from was beyond her, but she atleast hoped their presence wasn’t too far unwelcome. If so, she’d have to find a way to make it up to her for all her hospitality in such an otherwise dreary place.

“I’m pretty certain that’s what happened, Butch.. though he left after awhile, didn’t he?”

She could vaguely recall the ghoul standing in the corner of the bar being the only one left, watching the pair like he was predator on prey. Perhaps that had been Ahrzkual’s ploy all along, she pondered as she recalled the woman with the slave collar around her neck. The woman had been led into Underworld by that ghoul.. 

“Butch. When you came to find me last night, did you happen to cross that ghoul and a woman he was following?”

Michelle raised herself up on one elbow, tilting her body towards Butch’s own as she stared down at him. Could it be likely that Underworld had more to it’s eeriness than just what they’d scratched on the surface? 

“Yeah, I saw them heading towards the Ninth. I kinda steered clear, though. ..guy looks like he would’ve crushed me between his forearms.” 

“The woman he had with him had a slave collar on, Butch. You don’t wonder if it maybe had some correlation to us being drugged?”

“Wait, she had a what on?”

“A slave collar.”

Butch stared up at Michelle with a brow cocked, obvious confusion stretched across his features. She could already feel the slow build of tension rising through her, could feel the lump in her throat that refused to swallow down. It was the initial feeling that had been brought on when she’d seen the two approaching Underworld, that hazardous red glowing light standing out like a bad fashion statement.

Without waiting for further prompt, she dove into giving the former vault dweller a little descriptive lesson in the simple, yet deadly, design of the small device. How a small explosive charge encased in five pounds of durable steel can, when triggered, completely separate the wearers head in a showcase of splattered cherry pie. The food reference seemed to turn Butch’s face an even more paler shade of green as he grimaced, undoubtedly painting the picture clear as day in his mind. 

“..and it’s _not recommended_ to try to disarm them yourself.”

“Wait, how do you know so much about these? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Butch pulled himself up now, using the flats of his palms to scoot himself backwards towards the center of the bed, at full attention now. Even as sick as he felt, and even looked, Michelle could hear the curious, yet serious tone, in his voice. But more than that, she could feel the bile rising in her throat. It wasn’t another dry heave, she was going to vomit. The nerves causing her to be so on edge seemed to have finally stirred her stomach enough that it was at it’s fill.

Scrambling off from the bed as she tried to keep from pulling a Butch and vomiting all over Carol’s floor, she raced to the bathroom, a concerned Butch trailing behind her just as she made it to the toilet in time to expel the contents of her stomach. Grabbing a neatly folded hand towel from off the porcelain sink, Butch pulled handfuls of hair out from her face while simultaneously leaning far enough away not to get a whiff of the foul smell. 

What a gentleman.

“Here.”

As Michelle flushed the commode, leaning back against the adjacent wall incase she needed to vomit again, Butch reached down to pass the towel, disappearing momentarily as she worked to wipe at her mouth. As he reappeared with one of the bottles of purified water, he passed it off before taking place next to her on the floor. After cracking the lid on the bottle, she drank from it almost greedily, just to rinse down the taste of stomach bile. Once she’d had enough, she leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed. Butch didn’t say a word, but she dove meekly into her explanation regardless.

“Back in the Mojave.. we came across an old Brotherhood of Steel bunker. Coordinates from our pip-boy led us there, but.. it was a trap. We were dragged off _somewhere_ , and put in nothing but a jumpsuit and one of those collars..”

_They’d been traveling the Mojave when her pip-boy had picked up on a strange signal interference. Coordinates had been retrieved, followed by a haunting pre-recorded message of a woman beckoning one to come “Begin Again” at the Sierra Madre casino. She’d taken it as nothing more than maybe some pre-war message left on loop, something her pip-boy had picked up on happenstance, and nothing more._

__

__

_However she hadn’t been able to leave it alone. Playing the message on repeat like she was trying to decipher some hidden code, or secret. Meanwhile her robodog companion, Rex, was just all none the wiser. Chasing tails and nipping at dust, and happier than ever with his newly transplanted brain. If he had any complaints or objections to the journey, they certainly went on unvoiced. Though reservations had begun to settle in when the coordinates had led them both to what appeared to be an abandoned Brotherhood of Steel bunker. She had ordered Rex to stay put as she went to explore, none the wiser herself to what she was about to get herself wrapped up in._

__

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__

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_Stepping down into the bunker, the first thing the courier was greeted by were bodies in white jumpsuits, red X’s marked across them and messages cryptically written in blood across the walls. It was startling, and unlike anything she could’ve expected. Slinging her rifle from off her shoulder, she prodded at the bodies, checking for any indication of cause of death, but found nothing. The smell coming from their corpses indicated they’d been decomposing for some time, and she had found herself wrinkling her nose up in disgust as she tried to breathe in short inhales, making her way further into the bunker to investigate. However, the only adjacent door not completely collapsed in under rubble was locked by a terminal that seemed to be only bypassed by key code only._

__

__

_Leaving the locked door and terminal behind, she had crept along towards the back room, which seemed to house the sleeping corridors, but not just that.. in the center of the room sat a single radio, seemingly illuminated by the light above like it was beckoning to whomever approached. As the courier drew in closer, she could just barely make out the quiet melody of a woman singing. It was soft and low, and seeming to have found no other immediate threat, the courier drew near, tapping the radio with the end of her rifle before stumbling backwards. No explosion, no trap.. just an old pre-was radio, rather peculiarly placed._

__

__

_Slinging the rifle back over her shoulder, she pulled up her pip-boy, wondering if the radio interference had originated from here, but just as she reached to turn the dial on the radio, a hissing noise began from somewhere above her. A red cloud seemed to completely envelope her, and before she was able to grasp or comprehend what was happening, her body was collapsing onto the cool concrete of the bunker floor. Fighting against the slip of consciousness, she could’ve sworn she heard two words sung from the woman on the radio._

__

_“Begin again.”_

_When she awoke, it quickly became obvious she was no longer in the abandoned bunker. Awakening near a fountain in the same white jumpsuit she’d seen the corpses in, her world was about to be forever changed in the Sierra Madre. Speaking to holograms, dodging speakers and fighting against the former locals of the Villa as she tracked down three other unfortunate souls to continue in their journey of performing the heist of a century. She’d made unlikely friends in her venture, and had even left alongside the King of Swing, Dean Domino, with the Sierra Madre’s grand treasure. Leaving the man who so painstakingly obsessed over for so long to reflect and rot in his own tomb._

__

__

_However, that wasn’t all she’d left with. Upon returning to the Mojave, she seemed to have developed a form of psychosis. Waking up in pools of her own sweat, screaming as she’d claw away at the invisible clutches of a bomb collar strapped tightly around her neck. Visions of ghost people stalking in the shadows, and radios taunting. Not to mention the amount of the radioactive poisonous cloud that she’d unintentionally inhaled throughout her journey had her feeling physically sick for what felt like months afterwards._

__

__

_It took time.. but she was able to work and undo a lot of what the Sierra Madre had done. But like in many particular instances, some things aren’t so easy to just let go.._

__

__

As her words trailed off, Butch silently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, trying to comfort her in his own way. Part of her wished she could tell him everything.. part of her wanted to. About the bastard Elijah, God and Dog, Christine, and even Dean. She wanted to paint one of the most vividest of pictures for Butch on _why_ she felt herself spiraling again seeing those fancy little bow ties, or why on some occasions she still felt antsy around radios that happened to look just a bit too peculiar, or how she’d still hear Vera’s voice every time she wore that dress.. 

However, now just wasn’t the time, and as she pulled away from Butch just the slightest, she gave a gentle, tired smile. There were still other issues at hand. The first and foremost finding out what corruption may be afoot within Underworld, but.. before that, a shower. Nothing could’ve sounded better and even Butch had to agree as he gave a meek chuckle, reaching to pull at one of the tangled ends of her hair. All Snowflake’s handy work promptly ruined after a single night. 

“You’re gonna have to let me fix that.”

Michelle laughed, reaching to pull his hand away from her mess of tangles, but not before giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

The water in Underworld wasn’t as warm as she would’ve preferred, but having the luxury of bathing in clean water with soap helped to make up for any other shortcomings. Plus in the capital wasteland, could beggars really be choosers?

After throughly scrubbing herself pristine, Michelle stayed underneath the the water spray until it ran cold, tracing the uneven tile work of the shower as her mind drifted off elsewhere. The possibility of much more dark and sinister operations within Underworld, or atleast the Ninth Circle, were coming to fruition, and she still found herself unsure as to what to think about it. Aside from the strange few, had the magnanimity from Snowflake, Winthrop, Tulip, and the others all been a ploy? 

Shutting off the water, Michelle stood dripping as she tried to hope that wasn’t the case. Although it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d been set up, too busy gazing behind rose colored glasses and carrying her heart on her sleeve to take first notice until the walls were closing in around her. 

One would think she’d be better at this by now.

“Hey, you good in there?”

Butch gave a few knocks at the door, and she pulled back the cloth that worked for a makeshift shower curtain, and grabbed the towel that rested on the edge of the sink to dry herself off. She’d forgotten just how long she’d been in the bathroom, and grimaced as she worked quickly to dry herself off. 

“Yeah, just give me a sec.”

Plucking her underthings from off the pile of clean clothes she’d neatly stacked on the floor, she began to get dressed, opting this time for a pair of black jeans and a matching tight t-shirt. Part of her felt a little strange as she strapped her pistol to her thigh, and slid the combat knife she’d traded Tulip for into the side of her boot. They weren’t exactly well-equipped to take on all the ghouls of Underworld, especially since they both were still healing from the Reilly’s Rangers incident, but she figured a few extra bullets in the pocket never hurt anyone. Plus, she’d be armed but not enough to draw immediate suspicion, or atleast she hoped. Pulling her golden locks into a tight ponytail, she could practically hear Snowflake’s displeasure in the back of her mind. All that voluminous beauty, gone to waste.

As she stepped out from the bathroom, Butch was already waiting nearby. Leaning against the bedroom wall with his arms crossed, adorned in his typical attire and Tunnel Snakes jacket. His hair had been slicked back, and with his mouth working the end of a toothpick, she tried to wrack her brain for something for some witty comment, but fell short. Instead, all her fervor packed up and left, leaving her standing in the bathroom threshold, feeling nonplussed. Butch, seeming to take notice of her presence, tilted his head to the side, giving a smirk.

“Like the view?”

What an ass. 

“Hardly. Now come on, we need to go talk to Carol.”


	8. Mr. Crowley, did you talk with the dead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told a friend of mine that I had forgotten just how awful in-game Crowley actually looks, and sent a photo to which she responded with: “Goddamn this guy looks like he went through a garbage disposal.” and if that doesn’t accurately depict this man then I don’t know what does LMAO.

It had been an hour since their conversation with Carol in the diner. 

Michelle sat quietly at a table off in the corner, her hands clasped around an off white cup full of coffee that had long since gone cold. Butch had left to retreat back to the room, explaining that he still felt a little ill, and decided to go lay back down. Not that she could blame him, she still felt a little queasy, but the cold shower beforehand had definitely helped some. What it didn’t seem to help, though, was the newfound information Carol had provided them with about Ahzrukhal, and the Ninth Circle. While not as terrible as they’d initially thought, it was still lamentable in other ways.

“Carol, what the hell is going on here?”

Michelle spoke in a hushed tone, leaning across the booth the trio sat in as Greta swept the floors behind the counter, her dark gaze shifting to peer over at them every now and again. Carol’s hands were clasped together on the table infront of her, and her startled expression led her to believe that the ghoulette didn’t have the slightest bit of an idea what she’d been talking about. So, Michelle indulged her, leaving out the more.. embarrassing, and provocative details from the previous night. Though as she explained, even mentioning about the woman the tall ghoul had brought into Underworld, she took notice of the almost immediate change in the ghoulette’s body posture. Her clasped hands seeming to be a little too tight, and her back arched a little too straight. If ghouls could perspire, she’d imagine Carol would’ve been sweating bullets by now.

“Honey.. I’m sorry for what happened to you and Butch here, but it’d be wise to avoid Ahzrukhal, or just the Ninth Circle all together. For both your safety’s sake. Ahzrukhal is a very bad man.. and Charon. Well, he doesn’t have much of a choice, so it’d be best to avoid him, too.”

“Wait.. what do you mean that he doesn’t have much of a choice? So he just brought that woman in here on his own free will?”

It was Butch’s turn to speak up, his brows furrowed together as he paused, hand halfway on it’s journey to his mouth, a piece of a sweet roll pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Michelle had given the Tunnel Snake the most incredulous look when they’d sat down and he almost immediately requested an order for another sweet roll. He’d just shrugged and mentioned Carol’s dishes were the best he’d ever had since the vault, and that he needed something to fill his empty stomach. Carol frowned, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as her gaze dropped down to the table.

“Yes and no.. you see, Ahzrukhal owns Charon’s contract, and while it’s in his possession, Charon has to do everything Ahzrukhal tells him to do.”

The ghoulette’s words seems to hold more than just a general statement, and Michelle wondered if Carol happened to ever have her own dealings with Ahzrukhal and Charon. From beside her, Butch gave a low hum, shoving the piece of sweet roll into his mouth as he began to get lost in thought. However, as much as the conversation was making Carol uncomfortable, they still needed more answers, and despite how reluctant the ghoulette was, she eventually obliqued. Unfolding and divulging the darker areas of the Ninth that everyone else in Underworld had a habit of overlooking, or ignoring entirely because of the muscle Ahzrukhal had at his disposal: aka, Charon.

The woman with the slave collar was more than likely what Carol referred to as one of Ahzrukhal’s “new found treasures”. Atleast until the novelty wore off, or Ahzrukhal got bored with her, and decided to send Charon back off to a slaver settlement known as Paradise Falls to bring back another picking. The thought of an entire settlement dedicated to entrapping and selling slaves made Michelle’s stomach churn, and she made a mental note of the name _Paradise Falls_. Another place to bookmark for later if they managed to make it through the next few upcoming adventures. 

As for Ahzrukhal drugging both Michelle and Butch, Carol had simply gave a meak shrug, explaining that it more than likely hadn’t been anything more than just Ahzrukhal and his dirty bags of tricks. Apparently this act hadn’t been a new one, even amongst the ghouls of Underworld. The more inebriated someone was, the more likely the ghoul was able to swindle caps out of them. She supposed this made sense to a degree, but would make a point to double check her cap stash later, just in case.

“I’m.. I’m afraid that’s all I can offer you for now, dear. I’ve got to help Greta and get back to work, but please.. just promise me you’ll stay away from them both?”

To be fair, it was a light-hearted promise if there ever was such a thing. She could promise and swear on her life that she’d stay away, but unfortunately fate seemed to have a funny way of causing things to swing in a much different direction. 

“Hey there, sweetheart. Nice to see a new face around these parts. You lookin’ for some work?”

A ghoul, one Michelle swore she’d never seen in Underworld before, took the notion upon himself to sit at the table across from her. Her hands, which had been holding onto the coffee cup for the past hour, slid down and along the table until coming to a rest in her lap. Her gaze narrowed as she eyed the ghoul, pondering just what kind of work he’d be insinuating, and simultaneously figuring that she really _didn’t_ want to know. 

Dressed in a dirty, off-white suit similar to Ahzrukhal’s, she got the strange notion that she wasn’t going to enjoy the next words that came out from the ghoul. Laughing aloud at nothing in particular, he brushed back the messy patches of green hair that adorned his scalp before leaning back, patting his coat pocket for a cigar and lighter.

“You seem like somebody who wouldn’t tolerate ghoul racists, right? I mean, otherwise you wouldn’t be in the likes of a place like this.”

The look the ghoul shot her suggested the question was a challenge, but she remained neutral, her gaze narrowed as she waited for the ghoul to get to his point, or _offer_.

“No, no, no.. of course not. Well, have I got the proposition for you. See.. I have this list of people. Real scum. Started with eleven, now down to just four. All of them hate ghouls. They treat us like we're zombies, and you know what? They deserved to be wiped clean of this earth. 

But I want it done with a head shot, just like the old stories where zombies can only be killed that way. I'll give you 100 caps for each of them. If they die some other way, I'm cutting that in half.” 

“So.. you want me to “take care of them” because they don’t like ghouls?”

A counter challenge. She could tell there was more to this story, details being left out. The ghoul grinned, his yellow-stained teeth seeming even the more threatening framed by his ghastly face. Snubbing the cigar, the ghoul crossed his arms and leaned in, his voice low with a threatening undertone. It was now that she also took notice of the unfortunate fact that Carol’s place had begun to clear out, save for a few remaining stragglers who seemed like they were getting ready to head to bed. Even Carol and Greta both seemed to have disappeared, and the lack of other bodies in the room was quickly making the confrontation all the more uncomfortable. Michelle found herself now all the more eager to rush back to Butch, and to the safety of their room.

“Look, I can tell you’re a smart girl.. but you should also know that smart girls don’t ask too many questions. I need a job done, and you look like you’d be the perfect _smoothskin_ for the job.”

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested. Sorry.”

She shoved her chair backwards, pushing herself upwards as she made a quick attempt to strife past the ghoul. However, he was more swift, snatching her by the arm as he raised out of his seat so quickly the force caused his chair to rock. Turning to face the ghoul, Michelle simultaneously attempted to yank her arm back from his grasp, who in turn just tightened his grip, pulling her in closer. Refusing to wince, she instead gritted her teeth against the slow ache of the ghoul’s jagged fingernails digging into the pliable flesh of her arm, her gaze burning a hole through the ghoul’s own until an audible click had her stilled. Several beats later, Michelle dragged her gaze down to the .44 magnum pistol the ghoul now held tightly against her gut. 

She knew she could attempt to retaliate, but the ending result wouldn’t be pretty. Metaphorically and realistically speaking. Around them, if the few remaining stragglers took notice, they did nothing. It was almost as if their tired gazing just dragged right over them. _Didn’t see nothin’, didn’t hear nothin’._ Swallowing, she met the ghoul’s gaze once more, who now seemed to be a little too smug of himself. As he leaned in, his breath uncomfortably warm against her cheek, she could smell the whiskey wafting off from him, enough to almost make her feel dizzy.

“Now, you’re going to be a good girl. Sit back down, and listen to what I’m going to have you do. And believe me, if you don’t follow through, I will know, and you _will_ regret it.”

Giving her a shove, Michelle stumbled before turning to shoot another glare at the ghoul. She tried to slow her rapid breathing, adrenaline now pumping through her as she took her place back at the table, her hands folding themselves front and center as she tried to still their trembling. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so frightened.. no, furious. However she knew better than to make a move here. Right, wrong, or indifferent, she couldn’t deny the fact that her and Butch were still the odd ones out.

“I need you to locate these four men. They each have something I want. After you’ve completed this task, return back to me. If you’re good, I’ll even still hand over those caps I promised.”

“... what exactly am I supposed to be looking for from these men?”

“Four keys. Now, I don’t need you to waste time with anymore of your questions. I need this job done as soon as possible.. Though of course that means you might need a little help.”

Her brows furrowed as she cocked her head, wondering if the ghoul was going to try and get her to rope Butch into this little scheme. No.. that would’ve been too easy.

“There’s a rifle and some ammo stashed behind that giant monstrosity out in the main hall to the Museum. Grab it on your way out, you’ll need it. Oh, and pay a visit to Ahzrukhal in the Ninth. He’ll know what you need. 

Tell him Mister Crowley sent you.”

“You’re not actually going to go after these guys for that fucking sleaze, are you? Remember what Carol said?”

The concern and irritation in Butch’s voice just made Michelle feel that much more like shit for her decision, and part of her was wishing she hadn’t mentioned anything at all. She had gotten good at picking up on idle threats, and Mister Crowley’s certainly wasn’t one. Him wanting those keys was apparently some serious business, one way or another. The sheet of wrinkled paper with a list of four different names scribbled in pen was slowly beginning to burn a hole in her breast pocket, and along with it the itch of already wanting this whole ordeal to be over with. 

“I know what Carol said, Butch, but I don’t think I have much of a choice with this one. He told me if I don’t follow through, that I’d regret it, and he doesn’t cross me as the type to make idle threats.”

She’d left out the minor detail of the ghoul pulling a gun on her, but figured some things were better off left unsaid. Butch gave an exaggerated huff, his arms crossing over his chest as he glared at her. After a long, prolonged silence, he finally seemed to give.

“..fine. But I’m coming with you.”

“Butch, you don’t have—”

“No, I don’t wanna hear it. I’m coming with you.”

The defiant look on Butch’s face had a small smile pulling at Michelle’s lips, regardless of the inappropriate timing. She turned away to begin throwing some items in her knapsack so he wouldn’t notice, or take offense. It seemed the former vault dweller really was beginning to grow on her, and not just from a night of intoxicated dreams and hallucinations.

“Any particular reason we have to go back to that asshole at the Ninth though?”

“I have no idea. Crowley just said to go see him, and to tell Ahrzkual that he sent us. He didn’t go into detail, so I guess.. we’ll find out.”

As they made their way out of Carol’s, Michelle briefly wondered if Butch ever stopped to think that _this_ was where he’d end up in his life above ground. Helping a former Mojave courier who was undeniably beginning to feel some type of way for him, track down and kill four random strangers for a ghoul who’d threatened her life. Ah, but what good is life if not sprinkled with a bit of excitement every now and again?

Stepping back into the Ninth, her gaze was immediately drawn to the corner where, unsurprisingly, Charon stood. She wondered if aside from slave runs if the ghoul spent most of his time there. No words were exchanged as she stared him down before focusing her attention on Ahzrukhal, who was, of course, no other place than back behind the bar, serving shots for two ghoulettes who were giggling aloud to something the barkeep had said. Swallowing down the bile of anger and disgust, Michelle put on her best business face as she approached the bar. With her shoulders held back and her head high, she felt pretty good about herself until Ahzrukhal turned to face her, a wide grin stretching across his face as if they were old friends. As if he wasn’t some dirty, scum of the earth motherfucker—

“Ahh, it’s you two! Welcome back. What can Ol’ Ahzrukhal do for you?”

“Mister Crowley sent us.”

The grin that stretched across Ahzrukhal‘s face faltered ever so slightly, and she couldn’t help but to silently relish in the fact that the name seemed to leave a souring impression on the ghoul. Wiping his hands on an old bar rag before tossing it on the counter, Ahzrukhal started making his way over towards Charon’s corner, motioning for her to follow. Butch seemed all too uncomfortable as he looked between the three of them, and Michelle could practically feel Charon’s gaze burning through them as they approached. Ahzrukhal continued speaking as if this whole exchange was something as casual as pouring and serving drinks.

“I can’t believe he roped someone else in for his bullshit. Last smoothskin he’d hired never even made it back. But ah, I suppose that’s your problem now, huh?”

Ahrzkual gave a raspy laugh, stopping beside Charon as he looked back to Michelle before turning his attention back to the red-headed ghoul. If such a thing was even possible, Charon seemed to be even more front-and-center readied, like a solider awaiting his duties. She noticed those blue eyes never once strayed from Ahzrukhal as the bartender addressed him. 

“Charon, you will be assisting in escorting these two for Mister Crowley. When you return, make sure to stop by Carol’s to pick up my caps. Bastard still owes me from the last one.”

With that, Ahzrukhal turned on heel, pausing briefly to give Michelle a hard look before disappearing back off behind the bar, the two ghoulettes seated there giggling obnoxiously at his reappearance. Michelle couldn’t help but to find herself pondering if all ghouls dropped their standards so low, or only a select few? She knew radiation-baked bodies weren’t exactly a hot commodity amongst the public, but did they happen to lose their morals along with everything else? God, they needed to get out of here—

“Is there anything you need to grab before we head out?”

The question was awkwardly posed, she knew, but it still seemed polite to atleast ask. Charon didn’t exactly strike her as the type to pack heavy. Or even light, for that matter.

“No.”

While the answer was simple and straightforward enough, she couldn’t help to inwardly cringe just the slightest at the venom that came dripping from his raspy voice. Those blue eyes glaring down towards her didn’t seem to help much more, either. _It’s not like I’m much more thrilled with this situation, either, buddy._ Giving a gentle nod, she shrugged her bag up higher on her shoulder and started towards the door to the Ninth, hoping that it was just nerves that were making her feel like she was about to shrivel right up and dissipate. Even Butch didn’t have any additional commentary as they made their way out of the bar, and Michelle felt herself glancing back towards the former vault dweller to make sure he hadn’t decided to bail. Not that she would’ve blamed him. 

Though the uncertainty, and everything else she seemed to be feeling in the moment was just reflected back in Butch’s gaze. Charon meanwhile was lingering as far back behind as possible, his focus anywhere but on the two smoothskins ahead of him.

“We need to stop by Willow’s to get some supplies, then we’ll head out.”

While she spoke primarily to Butch, Michelle got the feeling Charon was close enough within earshot to get the jist, so didn’t bother with addressing him separately. As they descended down the stairs and began to round the corner towards Tulip’s shop, Winthrop looked up from his pile of dissembled scrap, his body language suggesting he was about to move to approach the two until his gaze caught sight of Charon trailing behind them. The ghoul promptly cowered down, his hands moving back to whatever he’d been tinkering with as his expression turned cautious and dark. Though the old technician wasn’t the only one, she noticed. The overall morale of Underworld in general seemed to shift upon noticing the presence of the bodyguard, and she couldn’t help but to wonder just what exactly Charon’s reputation was around these parts.

Stepping into Tulip’s shop, the ghoulette’s face seemed to come alive with enthusiasm after taking notice of her and Butch both. Michelle recalled just how enamored Tulip had been after her first visit, and she figured rightfully so, given the number of caps she’d spent on new clothing alone. Who would’ve guessed underthings and jeans that weren’t ripped to shreds would’ve been the post-apocalyptic’s hot, new fashion? 

“You’re back! And so soon! What can I do for you both?”

“We’re heading back out for a bit, and need to pick up some more supplies. Especially some extra stimpacks if you got ‘em.”

“You got it.”

As Tulip worked in a flurry, Butch’s attention seemed to be divided elsewhere with his face just about pressed against the showcase glass underneath the register counter. Peeking over his shoulder, Michelle’s eye caught a rather pristine looking switchblade lying amongst a few other odds and ends. She couldn’t help but to smile, recalling how not long after they’d left from the Muddy Rudder, Butch had lost his long treasured switchblade: his _Toothpick._

He learned a valuable lesson that day: one of not trying to fight giant, mutated crabs with something shorter than the length of his forearm. Of course, she couldn’t help feeling bad. For whatever reason, it had held a lot of sentimental value to him, and had been the only other thing he’d had on him after leaving the vault, aside from his Tunnel Snake jacket.

“Here you go. Threw in a couple extra goodies for you, too.”

Tulip smiled as she gently sat a rather plump bag on the counter, glancing down at Butch for a moment before looking back to Michelle.

“Typically, I’d charge 300. But since you were generous with your spending last time, I’ll let it go for 2.”

“How much for the switchblade there in the display case?”

She pointed over Butch’s shoulder to the blade, who turned with a rather surprised expression across his face.

“Hey— you don’t have to get me anything.”

“It’s okay, Butch. I want to.”

As Tulip waited patiently, Butch seemed a little flustered as he averted his gaze, his hands sliding into his jacket pockets as he rolled his shoulders, straightening himself back up. For a motion he tried so hard to cross as causal, it was almost laughably forced. Michelle grinned as she slid her bag from off her shoulders, reaching to retrieve a few small bags of caps before raising her eyebrow to Tulip as she gently placed the blade on the counter infront of Butch. 

“No extra charge.”

The ghoulette gave another smile as she looked between the two of them, and after Michelle finished their exchange of giving Tulip her caps, the pair made their way back into the main Hall of Underworld. Michelle with a satchel full of supplies, and Butch with his new _Toothpick_ , his hand busy turning the blade over and over across his palm. Charon stood nearby, his gaze immediately turning to focus on Michelle, who quickly adverted her own. She was uncertain about what it was with the ghoul, perhaps maybe her drug-induced fever dream or something else, but she had a hard time meeting that stern gaze of his. It felt like he was staring right through her. 

The group left Underworld in silence, save for Cerberus muttering something to himself about “rotting zombies” and “human nuisances” as they passed by, cheerful as ever. After retrieving the rifle and extra box of ammo from behind the Mammuthus primigenius, as Mister Crowley had stated it’d be, the trio left out from the Museum. Michelle tossed an impassive wave to Willow, who almost had to do a double take at Charon trailing behind them both. If she had any comments, she kept them to herself. 

Patting at her breast pocket, she pulled out the folded note, her very own _hit-list_ , opening it to reveal a set of names, listed neatly in order. Beside each one, coordinates to where to find each person. The first at the top of the page was the name Dukov. Folding the note back and stuffing it home into her breast pocket, she pulled up the pip-boy on her arm and began entering coordinates to their first location. As long as they strayed away from the more populated routes through D.C, she figured they’d be mostly okay. Trying to navigate over fallen rubble and collapsed buildings proved to be alot more difficult than traveling open spaces. With open spaces, you atleast saw what was coming for you. 

“First stop is this guy named Dukov.” 

“Hey, wait.. you’re not actually serious about going through with this, are you? We’re outta there. We don’t have to go back.” 

Butch picked up enough pace to keep in stride next to Michelle, his voice dropping a few octaves as they ducked and weaved out of sight from a few super mutants. Close enough within firing range, but far enough away to slip by without wasting unnecessary ammo. Charon seemed to share the same sentiment, but kept his eyes focused on any sign of movement as they continued onward. 

“I think you’re forgetting about a certain someone, Butch.” 

Michelle nudged her head behind them, and as Butch shot a glance backwards, he noticed Charon already staring ahead, shotgun still firmly grasped in his hands, looking every bit like he already knew what they’d been discussing. Butch quickly averted his gaze, frowning as he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket as they continued. 

“Right.. well, do we.. do we really have to kill them?” 

Butch’s voice was even lower now, seeming like every shred of doubt had now caught up to him since Underworld. Michelle gave a gentle sigh, rolling her shoulders as she adjusted her grip. The rifle in her hands felt heavier than it should have been, perhaps weighed down by the impending guilt and threat of termination if they didn’t return with what Crowley wanted.

“I think.. I think as long as Crowley gets what he wants, I don’t think it matters, Butch. But if these men don’t want to cooperate, then we won’t have much of a choice.”


	9. Dukov’s Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: there is smut in this chapter.

Mirelurks. 

If one ever thought Lakelurk’s were bad, Mirelurk’s belonged in the category of being their unsavory cousins. Having evolved with a thick, armored shell to protect it’s soft underbelly, they proved to be much more of a challenge when targeted. Not to mention they had a hell of a right hook, or in this case, claw. 

“Oh man, come on!”

Butch’s voice echoed between shots from his pistol as he ran opposite from one of the giant skittering crabs. The scene would’ve been comical had it been anyone other than her own companion close to becoming crustacean food. From his flank, Charon pumped rounds from his shotgun, blasting away at one one of the Mirelurk’s weak spots: the legs. The crab stumbled, but remained persistent on keeping on Butch’s hindside. Meanwhile, Michelle worked with frantic, trembling hands to get the raiders up ahead in line from behind the scope of her rifle.

From what she could tell they hadn’t noticed the commotion, or perhaps were too high to care. Either way, she figured if she could get herself a few head shots in, it’d be less work they’d have to do before making their grand entrance at Dukov’s. The old, pre-war hotel stood just within reach, too, it’s outer body surrounded by half-assed barricades and other collapsed rubble. Though as to why the raiders left Dukov alone, she wasn’t entirely too thrilled to find out.

Taking a slow, deep breath in, she gripped the rifle tightly, trying to ease the tension in her shoulders, focusing instead on the greasy raider with the mowhaked hair lighting up a cigarette. She was certain she’d have him. All she had to do was keep steady, and squeeze the trigger—

“Let me.”

A demand, not a question. She swore she felt herself ascend from her own body as she jerked, startled by the voice of Charon, who was now in too close proximity of her own personal space. Hadn’t he been firing off at the Mirelurk just a moment ago? Turning, she took sight of Butch jogging back to their location, the giant mutation laying still, it’s legs splayed every which direction. Wordlessly, she passed the rifle to Charon, watching as he eased into position with movements so fluid it was like it may as well have been second nature. Three consecutive shots later and the trio of raiders from ahead dropped like flies. The silence that followed after between them was unsettling, save for Butch’s breathing as he worked to catch his breath. 

An awkward hand motioned towards the rifle Charon had yet to release, but the ghoul did nothing but stare, his mouth still pressed in a familiar thin line. Michelle could feel the bubbling irritation rising beneath her surface, even more so at the question that Charon prompted next. 

“Do you know how to use this?”

“A gun? Yes, I do.”

While Charon’s tone of voice remained neutral, she knew the question itself was meant to be condescending. As Butch stood, glancing between the two, she could feel the heat begin to rise up to her cheeks in embarrassment. Obviously she knew how to use a gun. It was pretty much a necessity in survival in the post-apocalyptic world, however she would’ve been lying if she said she was the _best_ with handling ranged weaponry. 

“You hesitated.”

“I.. I couldn’t get my aim right, is all.”

“Hesitating could get us killed.”

Clenching now trembling hands, she glanced downward, unable to keep meeting his stare any longer. Instead, she turned and began to start towards Dukov’s, the burning heat of embarrassment radiating through her as she left a confused Butch and impassive Charon behind. She knew she was useless in ranged combat, especially when requiring quick precision and focus. It had never been one of her strong suits, but there had been reason as to why she never signed up to be deadeye. 

_”What do you think your doing, solider? You’ll never last on the front line if you can’t get a handle on your weapon. Lives will be lost and it’ll be on your shoulders, you understand me? Now, focus!”_

_At the mere tender age of seventeen, enrolling into the NCR wasn’t all that she had thought it cracked up to be. Holding the AR in her hands felt clunky and unnatural, like it just didn’t belong. She had figured she would’ve began her journey into adulthood by doing what most her age would in the Mojave; showing dedication as a young soldier by stepping in line with the New California Republic._

_From beside her, a tall boy with messy blonde hair and a face full of stubble eyed her with a scrutinizing expression, his AR held firm, but confident, in his hands. Of course he’d be good at this. He was always good at everything in comparison to her._

_“What the hell are you doing? You’re going to screw this all up! We can’t go back anymore. Get your head together.”_

Get your head together. 

Those words formed an echo chamber in her head as her footsteps slowed upon approaching Dukov’s doorstep. Crudely painted signs with poor spelling advised those who were entering to keep their weapons holstered, so Michelle turned to motion towards her two companions, only to find them already back in close proximity. She lamely gestured towards one of the signs, watching as both sets of gazes slid in sync towards it’s direction. 

“Keep your weapons.. holstered? Is that what it’s supposed to say?”

“Yes, Butch. Which means no runnin’ up in there ‘Cassidy style.”

The reference seemed to be lost on Butch, but catching the jist nonetheless, he tucked his 9MM out of sight. Charon gave a low sound of disapproval, but reluctantly slung the rifle over one broad shoulder, a series of incoherent grumbles underneath his breath. She could still feel the burning twinge of irritation and her own discomfiture, but swallowed it down as she turned to face the two doubled-doors, her hand rising and hesitating over it’s surface. What did one do in this situation? Where pleasantries still a thing here? 

_Oh, how do you do, neighbor! Don’t mind us, just need to snag a key from ya. No need to get violent. Doctor says biting the bullet isn’t good for the teeth._

Turning the handle, she shoved the door open, stepping simultaneously inside as she did so. Though her meak show of any bravdo quickly fell flat as the giant, and rather suggestive, statue hanging above from the ceiling seemed to draw all her immediate focus before quickly averting to a pale, red-headed woman sauntering in their direction. From behind her the other two men shuffled in, Charon seeming to be even more disapproving of the current circumstances as Butch gave an auditable _Oh,_ his gaze fixated to the ceiling hanging.

“Hi, sweetie. I'm Cherry. What can I do for you?”

Michelle’s gaze flickered down Cherry’s form, noting that she was completely bare save for an ill-fitting crimson colored nightie. Had they come at a bad time? As far as she could tell, no one else seemed to be present, and while it wasn’t uncommon for folks to catch some shut eye during the day—

“What is _that_?”

Butch’s bewildered tone had everyone’s heads turned, and as Michelle followed his gaze back up to the hanging monstrosity, she felt herself give an internal groan, her eyes practically fighting against the urge to roll back in their sockets. Leave it to Butch to break the ice with asking absurd questions. 

“Do you like it? Dukov designed this whole place. The ceiling piece is a bit much for me, but guests seem to enjoy it.”

What Cherry seemed to imply by guests, she didn’t want to know, and whether or not her answer seemed to satisfy Butch, he didn’t comment further. Deciding to take the opportunity, Michelle dove straight to the point. Her nerves were beginning to get the better of her, and the sooner they had this done, the better.

“Speaking of Dukov, is he here? We need to speak to him. It’s.. important.”

This information didn’t seem to phase Cherry in the slightest, nor did she seem to make any move to indicate that she was going to find the man. Tilting her head back as a slow, sluggish smile pulled at her lips, Michelle was able to note just how glossed-over her eyes were, realizing that the woman had to have been higher than a kite with whatever she was on.

“Sorry, sugar, but Dukov’s a little busy at the moment. If y’all want to hang around, I’m sure he’ll be down in a bit. I could pour us some drinks.”

“Hey, now you’re talkin’ my language!”

Butch grinned as Cherry turned, her hips swaying back and forth in rhythmic motion as she made her way over to what appeared to be a bar. Butch started in the same direction, but not before Michelle intercepted, reaching to snag the lapel of his jacket, halting him in place. The glare he turned to shoot her was something fierce as he yanked away, taking a step back before taking two forward. She supposed she should’ve known better than to touch his beloved jacket so crudely, but _what the hell was he thinking?_

Crossing his arms over his chest, Charon’s glaring stare was probably peering straight through the both of them, but he remained unmoving from his position near the door. Butch on the other hand, closed in, his hand jabbing at the air infront of her face as his gaze narrowed. 

“Hey, watch where you’re grabbin’, missy. Unless you wanna lose a hand, don’t damage the merchandise.”

God, he was pretentious. 

“Butch, did you forget why we’re here? Or did all the blood rush out from your head?”

“ _Hey_ , you heard the lady. Dukov won’t be down for awhile. What’s the harm in having a drink before we get down to business?”

 _Screw Dukov. Butch is gonna end up the one with a bullet in his head._ Fuming quietly, Michelle was left glaring daggers into the back of Butch’s skull as he walked over to the bar, joining a busy Cherry who was working to pour whatever concoction she’d mixed up into several glasses. Guess Butch’s time at the Muddy Rudder really left a lasting impression on the former vault dweller.

Giving a long sigh, she dared herself to glance back in Charon’s direction, and found herself immediately regretting it. Still in the same position like he was a barricade between the door and whatever may be outside, (and given the ghoul’s size she figured that wasn’t _too_ far off), his gaze met hers in an instant. There was something dark and sinister about the ghoul, and while she couldn’t put a finger on exactly what it was, she just knew that it was something unsettling. Ahzrukhal’s words about Charon danced around somewhere in the back of her mind, almost taunting in a way. Michelle found herself dropping her gaze down to the floor just to push out something that might’ve resembled initiating conversation. 

“Guess we came just in time.. cocktail hour.”

Her words fell flat and as her cheeks flushed, she found herself wishing she would’ve passed on the lame line. Not like Charon seemed like one to really strike up conversation to begin with. Taking her cue to leave, she instead started towards the bar. 

“Hey, sugar! You joining us?”

Cherry gave a flushed smile, and Michelle realized she’d been giggling to something Butch had said prior to her walking up. Instead of questioning what may have been so mirthful, she just gave a polite smile, ignoring the next empty barstool as she grasped the glass from Cherry’s outstretched hand. Waiting only until her back was turned, she raised the glass to give a faint sniff before taking a sip. The taste wasn’t bad. Smooth, and warming on it’s way down. She guessed Dukov more than likely had a personal stash of his own. Especially for something this good. 

Glancing around, she made mental note of the layout of the room, her gaze hesitating only momentarily over the obnoxious red heart-shaped bed in the off-center of the room. A jukebox hung haphazardly from the ceiling near the banister, (how it got there, she was uncertain), and off to the far corner, a billiards table with empty beer and whiskey bottles scattered across the table, giving indication no one had actually played a round in some time— 

“CHERRY, baby! We have new guests and you don’t come tell me?” 

A thick, booming russian accent came somewhere from up above, and as Michelle averted her attention, she saw a man with a shaved head, wearing silk red pajamas, leaning over the balustrade.

She presumed him to Dukov.

At his side was another woman, wearing similar attire as Cherry, and seeming to be every bit glued to Dukov’s hip. As Michelle met her gaze, her plump lips turned upwards in a sly smile, her fingers dancing in the air in front of her in an impromptu wave. From her place behind the bar, she could hear Cherry give an auditable scoff, which was followed by a roll of her eyes though a smile played at her lips. 

“Figured you were _busy_ , Dukov.”

“Ahaha! Never too busy for some friendly faces, baby! What brings your kind to Dukov’s?” 

All heads turned, focused on the man of the hour as he made his way down the stairs and to the bar, only tossing a nonchalant nod in Charon’s direction. Michelle leaned over to place her unfinished drink down on the bar top, Butch following her motion but remaining seated as he watched her step forward to Dukov. A million thoughts passed through her mind, many of which probably weren’t anything Dukov wanted to hear. _Just here because I was sent to put a bullet between your eyes_ didn’t exactly seem like a good opening, so she swallowed and decided to go with a more diplomatic approach.

No wonder Crowley didn’t do his own dirty work. Fucking coward. 

“We were sent here to collect something from you.”

“Heh, a little vague, baby. Care to quit yankin’ my leg and get to the fuckin’ point?”

Harsh. The corner’s of Michelle’s lips tilted downward, her gaze narrowing in momentary irritation before collecting herself. Straightening her shoulders, she began to prepare herself for possible confrontation after her next words.

“Mister Crowley sent us. He said you have something he wants: a key.”

“Crowley? That bastard’s dead! Feral ghouls ripped his nuts off and ate them for dinner!”

Dukov threw his head back and laughed, something loud and boisterous, though the joke was lost on her as she waited for him to finish. This whole thing was now beginning to seem like a bad punch line. 

“Crowley’s not dead. He’s a ghoul himself now, back in a city called Underworld.”

All the humor seemed to leave from the man’s face as he took in her serious tone. His arms crossed over his chest as a stray hand ran it’s fingers across his 5’o clock shadow, seeming almost thoughtful for a moment.

“So that bastard lives, eh? Must’ve gotten out by the hair of his balls, then. Or what’s left. And you say.. he wants my key?” 

“Yes. What’s this key for, anyway? It seems like some serious business.”

“You need an entire set of keys to get into the fort. Fort Constantine. Surprised the bastard still wants to get back there. It’s a long fucking walk. Anyway, I’ll tell you what! Let’s a make a deal, you and me.. and, I guess clown shoes over there, too.”

Dukov stepped to Michelle’s side, slinging an arm around her shoulders as he lightly jostled her. Underneath his touch, she could feel herself stiffen, the smell of alcohol and sweat wafting heavily from him. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Charon had pushed himself from his position against the door, his gaze focused in on Dukov, as if waiting for the man to make a wrong move. 

“I’ve been needing some new action around here, so why not stay awhile? Cherry can pour us drinks _all_ night long! Maybe later you could even let old Dukov rock you to sleep, if you know what I mean!”

And they say chivarly is dead. What a charmer. Against what possibly could’ve been her better judgment, she looked at Dukov and gave a tight smile. 

“Sure. We’ll stay and have a few drinks. Just as long as we get the key.”

“Of course, of course! Dukov never goes back on his word! Isn’t that right, Cherry, Fantasia?”

Both the girls agreed in union, and Dukov laughed again, stepping away from Michelle but not before letting his hand trail down the length of her back, leaving goosebumps breaking out across her skin as she shuddered. She loosely pondered just how long she was going to be able to put up with this charade before deciding it’d be easier to just put a bullet in the asshole, despite her already burdened conscious. Though it wouldn’t have been the first time doing something of that nature, it never seemed to come any easier. Raul’s words spoken of past atrocities floated through the forefront of her mind as Dukov ordered Cherry to pour everyone another round.

_”Don’t ever let this world make you cruel, mija.. there’s already too much of that.”_

A few drinks in, and Michelle had begun to realize a few things. 

Butch definitely had a thing going for Cherry, which was beginning to seem to both simultaneously amuse and piss off Dukov. Fantasia only seemed to have eyes for Dukov, regardless of what was going on around her, and Charon had apparently slipped off somewhere outside at some point. Oh, and Dukov was quite possibly the most biggest womanizing asshole she’d ever met thus far. Which was saying a lot, but it had slipped out in conversation that Dukov himself pays the girls to keep him company. Not that she could see why he’d have to pay anyone to keep him company.. with his charming personality and all. 

As she downed another drink, Michelle watched as Butch slid his precious Tunnel Snake jacket off from his shoulders, sliding it around Cherry’s instead after she’d complained of catching a bit of a chill. She questioned herself on why the woman didn’t change, then pondered if Dukov would even allow such a thing. But through her wandering internal dilemmas, her gaze caught notice of the way Butch’s hand lingered for a moment too long over the cusp of Cherry’s collarbone. He was definitely drunk, or so she was sure. She’d never seen him that bold sober, despite the cool bravado he always put forth.

“Hey baby, you wanna try somethin’ new? My special.”

Dukov laughed, and Michelle couldn’t help but to cringe at the offer, or atleast until a hand slipped into his breast pocket to retrieve a small, folded white paper packet. She raised a brow, the alcohol running through her veins making her curious, but her wits still making her cautious. Dukov leaned over, the packet pinched between his thumb and forefinger in an offering. As she accepted the silent offer, the shit-eating grin that followed across his face wasn’t exactly too reassuring as she held the packet awkwardly between her fingers. It’s contents felt lumpy to the touch, like pills. 

“What is this?”

“I told you, baby! My special! A new.. _aphrodisiac_ we’re bringin’ to the wasteland.”

The red flush and warmth that spread across her cheeks had been both purely unintentional, and unexpected. Suddenly, she wanted nothing to do with this — with any of this. She should’ve just had Dukov bite the bullet so they could’ve been onto the next target by now. However before she could articulate her next response, Butch had snatched the packet out from her hands, laughing drunkenly as Cherry braced his swaying form with one hand on his back, and the other splayed open across his chest. 

“Hey, I’m willing to give it a try.”

“Ah, just one, clown shoes. This shit’s in limited supply.”

“Huh.. pills?” 

“Swallow one down and pass it, clown shoes.”

Pulling a small, pink colored pill out from the top of the packet, Butch did as he was told before passing it off to Cherry, who seemed all too eager to have hers before offering it back to Michelle. 

“Wanna try, sugar?”

If only Cherry’s words had been as sweet as the substance that slide across her tongue as she had finally, but reluctantly, agreed. The pill had a twinge of some tart, artificial flavoring, ironically similar to the taste of cherry. Drinks continued to make their rounds, and Michelle had begun to question if the pill she’d taken had been some hoax. Atleast until she managed to get a grip back on reality enough to realize she’d been watching Fanatasia palm Dukov’s half-mast erection from the waistband of his silk pajama bottoms for the past five minutes. Giving a gentle shake of her head, she instead averted her gaze down to the marble floor, her palms pressed between her thighs as she tried to focus elsewhere. 

Dukov seemed to take notice of this, however, his arms splaying open out wide across the back of the settee across from her. A cocky motion that probably did nothing other than assist in further stroking his ego. _That’s right. Take it all in._ His laugh, however, was like a finger tracing it’s way straight to her core. Enticing her in ways she’d never thought possible, especially from the likes of such a man as himself. 

“Enjoying yourself over there, baby?”

She blushed, deep shades of crimson dusting across her cheeks in both shame and strange arousal. Drowning in alcohol and strange euphoria as the aphrodisiac took hold. A feeling she vaguely realized that was quite similar to the one she’d experienced back in the Ninth Circle.. However the thought was just as quickly swept away as her gaze instead shifted from Dukov over to Butch, who’s head was lolled back, facing heavenwards. His beloved Tunnel Snakes jacket had long since been discarded, splayed out in a heap on the floor alongside his white t-shirt. Cherry had taken place kneeled between his legs, one hand splayed open against his bare chest as her other expertly worked his exposed manhood alongside her exploring tongue. 

Michelle fell still, her gaze blown wide as she took in the sight. She’d never seen this much of Butch before, let alone _this._ Save for the accidental glance at him in his undergarments, they had always provided eachother with the same unspoken vow to privacy, or atleast some resemblance of. It was always the little things that helped it to seem.. less barbaric, and more civilized. Now however, was a different story. She couldn’t bring herself to look away, and with her heartbeat pounding away in her ears, she found herself wanting nothing more than to be in Cherry’s place. Watching as her tongue traced the length of his sensitive flesh, all the way to tip where she moved in slow, rhythmic circles, drawing out the most pleasant moans from between Butch’s parted lips as his fingertips danced between her locks of hair.

Maybe, just maybe, if they made it until morning, she could just blame it on the alcohol and the drug they’d taken. 

“Cherry, baby, get your sweet ass off that dick and come hop on mine!”

Michelle’s head snapped to Dukov, who had removed himself and was now making his way back upstairs, a bourbon bottle clutched in one hand, and Fanatasia in the other. Cherry gave a low hum of discontent, but reluctantly pulled herself up from off her knees. Not of course before being a tease, taking the entirety of Butch’s length between her lips before releasing him with a wet pop. The former vault dweller gave a guttural moan, his hand moving to grasp around the length of himself in place of Cherry’s absence and Michelle felt she could no longer help herself. Any remaining bit of self-resolve went straight out the window as she made her way over onto his lap, her lips crashing onto his in a frantic, heated kiss. 

Butch’s hand ghosted the grip from around himself, instead beginning to grasp at her hip, his fingers digging in deep as their bodies ground against one another. From above, she leaned back to break the kiss, instead pulling her shirt up and off her form before working to undo the clasps of her bra. Just as a soft, relieved sigh escaped from between her lips as her breasts fell free, she was just as quickly intercepted as Butch leaned in to take a perk nipple into his mouth. The flat of his tongue working over the tender, supple nub, gently sucking and teasing at the flesh, eliciting a series of gentle moans from Michelle before he pulled away, his breathing heavy and pupils blown wide. 

“Are we..”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish the statement as she pressed her lips back against his, his hands tightly gripping at her hip once again as she ground down against his hard erection, giving him his answer. In a flurry haze, they had managed to slip out from the remaining confines of their clothing, leaving a trail like breadcrumbs to the obnoxious heart-shaped bed. The bedsheets were silk; a bit both surprising as such a commodity was rather unheard of, but unsurprising in the fact that they did belong to Dukov. As Michelle laid back onto the mattress, Butch quickly followed, climbing over her flattening form as she stared up into his blue gaze. Even through the alcohol and chem-haze, she could felt herself slipping into a momentary feeling of both vulnerability, and uncertainty.

While she’d had sex before, it had always been something rushed, and more unfavorable than anything. There just never seemed to be time for slow, swooning romances and soft-spoken nothings in the night while patrolling the wastes, much less upon silk bed sheets. Though as Butch leaned down, careful to hover above her, pressing gentle kisses down the trail of her neck, she felt herself melt. She’d spent so much time convincing herself that her feelings of attraction were superficial, but being in such a state of such vulnerability, she found that she could do nothing but open herself to him.

“Butch..”

Michelle’s voice was breathless as Butch’s lips moved down the plain of her body, her back arching just the slightest in eager anticipation as his hands parted her legs. He seemed to waste no time, his head dipping straight to her core, running his tongue up along and in between her folds as his palm slid to grasp at a plump hip, applying just the slightest bit of pressure in response as she began to writhe underneath him. Her soft whimpers and mewls were beginning to do wonders for both his ego, and his groin, and he decided there that he wanted to see what it took to really make her sing. 

Giving a last teasing flick of his tongue across her sensitive bundle, he pulled away momentarily, smirking defiantly at the mummers of protest as he crawled back above her form. Staring up at him, her eyes were like pools of melted honey, reflected by the amber glow of the lover’s embracing fixture hanging from the ceiling. A tangle of limbs, heat, and immortalized passion. 

Gently teasing the corner of her lip, Michelle’s hands roamed over Butch’s shoulders, tracing his outline before trailing her way down his forearms. Her gaze mapping out every muscle line, scar, and bruise before once more meeting his gaze. In that moment, he would’ve been willing to bet everything he had that she would be the closest thing the wasteland would ever see to something so divine. Her golden hair flowing around her head across crimson silk sheets like a halo, her rosy lips parted, and her eyes full of yearning. 

And here he was, ready to defile her in the sweetest of ways. She was his honeypot, and he wanted more than just a taste. 

The next series of moments were a flurry of lips crashing onto one another, delicate hands tangled roughly in dark locks as two bodies slid and shifted together. From between them, Butch lined himself up at her entrance, running his head between her slick folds before slipping into the warm, inviting hold, straight to the hilt. She was dripping, and it was all for him.

“Ah.. fuck!” 

Michelle gasped, her body arching beneath Butch as he clumsily steadied himself back up on his palms, giving himself better leverage before beginning to set his pace, thrusting in and out of her. He tried to start slow and steady, but they were long past such things. There was no time for slow romance, just pure lust, and satisfaction. Not that she had any complaints. Her hands reached to snake around Butch’s neck, pulling him down onto her as he steadily pumped away, his lips peppering her own with quick, rushed kisses before moving his way across her cheek and down to her neck. Taking the notion, she tilted her head, offering more of yet another piece of herself to him, to which he took greedily.

Nipping at the soft, tender flesh, he evoked even more sweet sounds from the woman beneath him as her nails began to find themselves home in the flesh of his back. Butch could feel himself getting close to release, his hips snapping harder and faster against hers, their breathing in union, but both ragged as they raced to the peak of a different kind of high—

“F.. _fuck!_ ”

Butch’s hands tightened against the silk sheets as he gave a few final thrusts before halting to a still, his head buried into the crook of her neck as he felt himself release himself inside of her. It wasn’t until a few moments later when he pulled himself back on shaking hands, that he realized he wasn’t quite as spent as he’d thought he’d be. Good for it, too, as a rather pouty Michelle still seemed ready to continue. 

Unable to hide his cocky grin, Butch slipped out from between her, shuddering gently at the feel of both their wetness mixed together, and the absence of the warmth it provided, before leaning down to press a quick kiss upon her lips. His hand moved to work across a bare breast, it’s nipple still perk and all the attentive as his fingers teasingly brushed across it before taking it between his lips. The blush that crossed her face was an absolute sight to behold, and something Butch could feel yet again going straight to his groin.

“Let me ride you.”

A statement, not a question. While it had left Butch off-put for a moment, she wasted no time as she sat up, her palm pressing against his chest as he backed off, sliding off to her side before watching as she flipped over, working to straddle his hips. His hands immediately made their way to her breasts, working the soft, tender mounds between his palms as she lined himself up back at her entrance once more, plunging herself home. The moan that slipped from between her lips was almost obscene, and Butch was certain if Dukov hadn’t heard them before, he certainly had now. 

“Un.. _fuck_.. Butch..”

Michelle’s hips rocked back and forth, hitting the sweet spot in herself. It wasn’t long before she felt her body shake and tremble as she came to her peak, and god was it ever a sight to behold. However, Butch found himself wanting more. _Needing_ more. Gripping both palms onto her hips, Butch eased her down further onto him, her face burying into his neck as he began to take control, his hips thrusting into her from underneath with as much force and ferocity as he could manage. The sounds and breathless obscenities would be something that he swore he’d play over his head in some future nights to come, but nothing would ever compare to the peaking orgasm that had her screaming into it’s finish, or the way that she continued to rock her hips against his until they were both absolutely spent. 

Finally, on trembling legs, Michelle had let her body gently collapse onto Butch’s, her nose nuzzling into the side of his neck as exhaustion crept on them both. Everything was still a haze around them but it was something now comforting as she found herself drifting off into sleep. With a hand lazily brushing through strands of her hair, Butch stared up at the entangled couple hanging above until his lids grew heavy, finally drifting off into his own sleep. Both completely oblivious to the tall, dark silhouette slipping in from somewhere in the night. A lit cigarette pressed between ruined lips and a familiar glaring stare wandering over the now too-quiet room as a single, fleeting thought slipped into the night. 

Just what in the hell had Ahrzkual gotten him into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michelle and Butch are gonna have some things to work through after this. Ya know, character development shit before we get to the good stuff with Charon. Because I can’t stress this enough: he’s still gonna be the main star of our show. 
> 
> Just as much as I’d love him to, he can’t be the one to skip right in and start jumpin’ Michelle’s bones lol. ( ~~Cue next five chapters of nothing but that lmao~~ ) Also apologizes for any mistakes. It’s 5:30am and I’m beyond tired of looking at this right now hnnn. 
> 
> I hope y’all atleast enjoyed.  
> ♥️


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